


No One Said Flying Was Easy

by Wrtrmd2



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Dick Grayson-centric, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Robin Dick Grayson, Protective Bruce Wayne, Young Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-23 09:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 41,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30053643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrtrmd2/pseuds/Wrtrmd2
Summary: Eight year old Richard Grayson has just watched his parents fall to their deaths. Hurting and alone, he struggles to adjust to the new life he's thrown into. Bruce Wayne takes him in, but seems to have no idea what he's doing. Can they help each other put the pieces of their broken lives back together?
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	1. No One Said Flying Was Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Italicized quotations indicate the speaker is using another language.

Two hours. That’s how long it took for him to stop crying. He would have cried longer, he was sure, but he’d run out of tears. Now there was nothing he could do but stare at the ground with puffy red eyes, and cling to his colorful stuffed elephant.

He had been sitting on the single step of their small trailer for what felt like an eternity, waiting for something to happen. The temperature had been dropping steadily for the past thirty minutes. He couldn’t feel his fingers or his nose anymore. His legs were starting to fall asleep and his stomach felt hollow. His eyes were still stinging. But he didn’t register any of it. He just felt numb, and he knew it didn’t have anything to do with the cold night air.

He had just watched his parents fall.

A part of him knew they were dead. That part kept playing their screams over and over again in his head… like it was on a loop.

His name. That’s what they had screamed on the way down; reaching out as though to touch him one last time.

Another part of him refused to accept it. That part imagined them running back to the trailer, pushing past doctors and policemen that would try to stop them for their own good. Finding him sitting alone in the cold. Wrapping him up in their strong warm arms. Promising everything would be alright in the morning because they’d be right there. Then they would probably scold the social worker for making him sit out there for so long without at least a jacket.

The social worker. He raised his head slightly to see her standing a few feet to his left talking with Pop Haley. She had arrived about an hour after it had happened. She tried to talk to him, but he hadn’t heard a word she said. He hadn’t answered any of her questions. Hadn’t said one single thing. Which proved in his mind that they really were dead.

His parents teased him often about being a chatterbox. They were always telling him stories about how he would babble away at anyone he saw before he’d even learned his first word. They told him they had been worried that he would walk up to a random stranger one day and they’d never see him again. But they found out soon enough that they didn’t have to worry about that. He had an almost unnatural sense of judging a person’s character.

According to his parents, when he was eight months old a woman had joined the circus as one of the clowns. Anytime she was around he would get quiet and bury his head into whoever was holding him. No one understood why; she seemed nice enough. But one day, while they were setting up at the fairgrounds, something had upset the elephant. His parents had quickly handed him to the nearest person and hurried to help. They hadn’t gone three feet when he started screaming and crying at the top of his lungs. When they turned they saw him thrashing around in the woman’s arms, trying to get away. And then her jacket had torn. Apparently she had been stealing from the other performers. Small things that everyone thought they’d lost. She’d been pawning them for money and nobody had had a clue. But he had somehow known there was something wrong with her.

Of course, as soon as his father had told him the story he had taken to following circus goers around until it was time for the show. It had amused everyone in Pop Haley’s crew to watch him running around studying every person he came across. If he decided they were good he would give them a bright smile and talk to them animatedly, even though he suspected none of them knew Romani. Then he would skip away leaving them looking confused. When he came across a suspicious person he would give them a disappointed frown and innocently tell them that they would be much happier in life if they did good things for others. None of them understood either, but it probably wouldn’t have made much of a difference anyway.

He stared at the social worker as she continued to argue with Pop Haley. He couldn’t remember what she’d said her name was. Even if he had been paying attention he wouldn’t have been able to understand half of what she said. His English was getting better. He had been working hard to use it when he could, and his mother was always there to help him when he struggled with a word. At least… she had been.

He tried to focus on the words as his eyes stung again. He was really too exhausted and dehydrated to cry any more. His parents deserved the tears. But he couldn’t give them. His parents deserved to be alive. But unless this was some horrible nightmare, that wasn’t going to happen either.

Pop Haley’s voice had risen over the past few minutes. Pop was waving his arms in exaggerated motions trying to make a point. The social worker just shook her head. He couldn’t hear the whole conversation, just bits and random words. He heard his name a lot. ‘Richard’ when the lady said it, ‘Dick’ from Pop Haley. He also heard ‘family’, ‘filthy’, ‘dead’, ‘child’, and ‘home’. But he didn’t think they were trying to say that ‘the filthy dead child needs a family home’ so he still felt lost.

Finally they stopped talking. The argument was over. And studying their expressions, he didn’t think Pop Haley had won. Pop looked angry, sad, defeated, and nervous all at once. The lady just looked smug. He decided she wasn’t a good person.

Pop Haley narrowed his eyes at her and walked over to where he sat, shivering on the step. Pop knelt in front of him, put a hand on his shoulder, and every expression but the sadness left his face. “Dick,” Pop softly spoke in Romani so he could understand, “ _I am so sorry_.”

Pop Haley paused, but he just stared. He couldn’t speak. There was nothing he could say without his voice cracking. He knew. He had tried.

Pop Haley sighed and glanced back at the woman. “Dick, I know-“ Pop caught himself speaking English and cleared his throat, switching back to his familiar tongue. “ _I know you’re hurting. Please believe me, I tried_ …”

He frowned and tilted his head in confusion. What had Pop Haley tried to do? And why was Pop so upset about it?

Pop Haley looked down and closed his eyes for a moment before looking up into the eyes of the boy he considered a grandson. Brilliant blue eyes haunted by what they’d seen such a short time ago stared back. They were asking questions that no one had answers for. What happened? How is it possible that they were smiling and laughing one minute, and gone the next with the snap of a rope? Why? Why them? Why did they die?

It wasn’t just them that died; Pop Haley knew. When they hit the ground a small, eight year old boy with messy raven hair and a smile that could light the dark side of the moon had died with them. A part of him at least; and he hoped that someday, though it would probably be a long way off, the boy would be able to find that part again.

He bit back a growl that would’ve been directed at the social worker. He didn’t see how the boy could hope to find that part if… no _when_ he was about to be ripped away from the only family he’d ever known. Wasn’t one enough to lose in a night? It seemed not.

A small hand released its grip on the stuffed elephant called Peanut and found its way to Pop Haley’s chest. He stared at it for a moment, looked up, and knew the boy was waiting for him to fix things. He wished that he could. “ _You have to go, son_.”

The boy blinked and looked without seeing as Pop Haley tried to explain. “ _They don’t think you should stay in this place. They say it would be too painful for you_.”

He blinks again, multiple times as his eyes sting. Painful? It’s already painful. How will taking him away from here change that? It won’t bring his parents back. It will only take him from the only other people in the world that ever cared for him. The only life he’s ever known. The social worker must hate him for not listening earlier… for not remembering her name. Why else would she be so determined to torture him like this?

He doesn’t realize he’s hugging Pop Haley until strong arms wrap him in their warmth. He doesn’t realize he hadn’t run out of tears until he feels them sliding down his face once again. He doesn’t realize he won’t get to say goodbye to the others until he opens his watery eyes and sees the social worker has somehow slipped past him and packed a small suitcase.

Pop Haley gently rubs a thumb across his cheek to wipe away the tears. “ _We’ll be there for their funeral_ ,” Pop promises. He sniffs and nods numbly as he stands on shaky legs. He swallows the lump in his throat and clutches Peanut back to his chest. The only part of his family they haven’t threatened to tear away. He’s determined that he will not let this one go. He follows the lady to her car, she opens the door, and he stares at the waiting seat. He turns one last time to see Pop Haley standing alone in front of their cozy little trailer: now it’s dark and cold and empty.

“Achh devlesa,” (Goodbye) is barely a whisper as it passes his lips. He climbs inside, shuts the door, the lady starts the car… and just like that he’s gone.

Richard John Grayson, the _last_ of the Grayson’s, is flying alone now.


	2. The Funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized quotations indicate the speaker is using another language.

Dick spent two nights in the social worker’s office, sleeping in an uncomfortable leather chair when he could. Overall he only got about five hours of sleep. Waking up confused and then realizing it had really happened… that he was alone… it was too hard. He would start crying every time, and that annoyed the social worker. So he just tried not to sleep.

On the third day, she told Dick to hurry and get ready so she could take him to the funeral. Apparently a man by the name of Bruce Wayne had been at the circus that night. He had seen them fall and offered to pay for everything. He had even sent the social worker a suit for Dick to wear.

“We need to get going if we’re going to leave in time,” the social worker had muttered to herself. Dick still didn’t know her name. He wondered where exactly they had to go after the funeral. He hoped she would take him back to the circus, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath.

They went straight to the gravesite and Dick felt only slightly better when he saw all of his friends from the circus… except for the elephant, Zitka. They were standing around two polished coffins, wearing their best clothes and watching as he slowly walked to join them. Pop Haley put a hand on his shoulder and the service started.

It was in English so Pop Haley whispered interpretations for Dick. He didn’t hear either the preacher or Pop Haley. All he heard was the sound of ropes snapping in his ears and his parents calling his name as he stared at the flowers on the coffins.

He’d heard once that it always rained when someone you loved was buried. He couldn’t remember where he’d heard it, but he figured it wasn’t true. Because today in Gotham, a city that had a reputation for being dark and gloomy, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Everything he saw was bright and green; the flowers were too colorful, and a few birds peeked out from a line of trees whistling away.

What he’d heard hadn’t been true. Because he loved his parents; more than anything in the world. And it wasn’t raining.

It seemed cruel to him, that he was standing right in front of them… so close and he couldn’t see them. Couldn’t touch them. Couldn’t hear their laughter. And it hurt knowing he could never do those things again.

If no one had looked at him, they wouldn’t have known he was crying. The tears were falling silently down his face and dripping from his chin to the soft green earth below. He didn’t notice them himself.

And then, before he could register, it was over. The preacher walked away and his circus family immediately moved to comfort him. They took turns hugging him and whispering to him, words he could understand. He briefly thought of the social worker waiting to take him away from these wonderful people and decided to actually listen to what they said. He didn’t know if he’d ever hear their voices again.

Mostly they just said they were sorry and they wished he could stay. He just nodded and squeezed them tight because he felt the same way. Pop Haley was last and he actually lifted Dick off the ground to hug him.

“ _You’ll be alright, little bird,_ ” Pop assured him with his parent’s pet name, “ _You’re strong… just like they were._ ”

“Nais tuke,” (Thank you) Dick managed in a choked whisper, “ _I’ll miss you_.”

The social worker cleared her throat and tapped her watch impatiently. Dick squeezed Pop Haley’s neck so tightly he was probably choking him, but he didn’t want to leave them. And he knew that Pop didn’t want to let him go. But they both knew they had no choice. The social worker would just come tear him out of Pop’s arms if she had to.

He sniffled, wiped his eyes, and gave them all a small smile… in case they never saw it again. Then he walked across the graveyard to climb into the backseat with Peanut and head toward his new home… wherever it may be.


	3. Juvenile Hall

It had been over a month since the funeral. Dick had convinced himself in the two days following the incident that things would have to get better for him. He may have been leaving the circus, but surely the social worker had found a new family to watch over him. A man and a woman who would treat him with kindness. Maybe they would have a kid or two of their own that he could befriend. Someone that could help him adjust to his changing lifestyle and help him deal with the loss of his parents. He realized that the social worker didn’t give a hoot about him as a person, but she had to find a good home for him at least. That was her job.

She should have been fired.

He had been in her office for two days and she’d only spent thirty minutes on the phone for his benefit. The rest of the time she was making personal calls or snoring on her couch. She’d basically had his future in her hands and she’d only given him thirty minutes of thought.

She had talked to him in the car after the funeral about what was going to happen to him. He tried to understand. After all, she was discussing his life. But there were too many words coming out of her mouth. Big words he’d never heard before. It was hard to follow. He had pieced together that he wasn’t going to a foster home. The only sentence that had been clear to him was, “No one wants a circus brat.” She’d given the impression that an orphanage wasn’t an option either. So he’d wondered where they were going.

He wished he’d never found out.

If his parents had known he’d be thrown into a juvenile detention center when they died, they surely would have taken the time to make out a Will and Testament. They probably thought he’d just stay with the circus if anything happened to them. But it had happened so suddenly… no one was prepared for this.

Juvenile Hall was a living nightmare for Dick. Even though he was young he could see the injustice of being there. The worst thing he’d ever done was steal a few handfuls of popcorn or cotton candy before Showtime. Pop Haley didn’t care about that… Dick had seen him do it a few times too. He was the most innocent person there and still he was treated like less than a common criminal.

Often, when he was alone, he found himself thinking about what Pop Haley had told him that night. ‘They say it would be too painful for you’. He wondered if ‘pain’ had another meaning in English. Surely a cheerful circus environment surrounded by people who loved him and made sure he was safe and fed would be less painful than this place… sad memories or not. This place was like a monster in a pit, trying to tear every last happy thought from his mind.

Dick had always been small. People often mistook him for six rather than eight. But here he was like a sapling in a forest of fully grown trees. Every kid locked up with him was at least three years older than him. They made fun of him constantly, knocked him over, stole most of his food. He had lost weight since he’d arrived; and having never been bulky in the first place, he really couldn’t afford to lose much more.

The guard that watched his block wasn’t much better. In fact, he was worse. He never seemed to take a break so he was always grouchy. He made them go outside for an hour every day, regardless of the weather. And he always asked Dick stupid, pointless questions… and hit him if he didn’t answer fast or loud enough. The first week Dick had been too depressed to talk to anyone and he couldn’t understand half of what people said to him. After that he’d gotten sick because his cell was cold, drafty, and leaked when it rained. It always seemed to rain. His throat had been so sore he couldn’t manage anything but whispers… definitely not loud enough for the guard.

After a while Dick decided that no matter what he did he was going to be miserable. So he stopped talking all together and spent every minute he could sitting on his bed, back against the wall, and knees pulled up to his chest. He couldn’t sleep much in this place. Nightmares and cold made him wake up sweating and shivering on the bed. He didn’t even have Peanut to comfort him now. They had taken him away and locked him in storage somewhere.

If there was _any_ bright side to being in Juvenile Hall, at least he had learned to understand English. True, there were a few words that still puzzled him; like ‘dumplings’ or ‘gruel’… but since he heard them in the cafeteria he assumed they were the foods being served. He knew enough to form a few sentences without struggling anymore. He noticed though, that a lot of people used the few English words his mother had told him to never repeat or he’d wind up with a mouthful of soap.

None of that really mattered when it came down to it; all the English in the world wouldn’t get him out of this place…

“Grayson!” The guard banged on the bars of his cell and he was startled out of his thoughts. “Get your butt over here and come with me.”

Dick frowned in confusion. They had already gone outside for their hour of ‘recreation’ as they called it. He was still drying out from it. But he really didn’t want to be hit again… he already had a painful bruise on his left cheek. So without a word he stood up and followed the guard down the hall to the ‘Warden’s’ office.

As they walked, Dick could hear the guard mumbling to himself. Something like, “Good for nothin’ brat. Don’t know what anyone’d want with him… Specially someone like that.” It did nothing to abate Dick’s confusion.

Finally they stopped and the guard opened a door, pushed Dick roughly inside, and slammed it behind the boy. Two men turned at the sound. One of them had a pinched up kind of face with round glasses. He was frowning as though he’d just smelled something bad… maybe his cologne, Dick could smell it from across the room. It took all of his willpower not to wrinkle his nose and hide it in his uniform.

The other man was dressed in a nice, clean suit. He had short dark brown hair and blue eyes, though they were much darker than Dick’s. His expression was neutral, but his eyes seemed to widen slightly as he took in Dick’s appearance.

Dick frowned and tilted his head. He had seen this man somewhere before but he wasn’t sure where. Dick narrowed his eyes, playing his studying game for the first time in five weeks. After a moment he had come to the conclusion that this man was trustworthy. He was muscular, obviously important, and a bit intimidating… but his eyes were warm and concerned. Like Pop Haley’s. Or his parents.

“Grayson,” the ‘Warden’s’ annoyed voice drew his attention away from the other man, “This is Bruce Wayne… he’s here to take you to his home.”


	4. Contemplations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized quotations indicate the speaker is using another language.

Dick kept his eyes firmly on the window as they drove through Gotham to Mr. Wayne’s house. It was still pouring, like it had been all day, and the raindrops created hypnotizing streaks on the glass. He didn’t know where exactly they were going or how long it would take for them to get there. He remembered that Bruce Wayne had paid for his parent’s funeral, meaning he had to be wealthy. Dick imagined he lived in a fairly big house. Maybe he was married and had a family.

Dick could feel Mr. Wayne looking at him through the rearview mirror every time they came to a red light or a stop sign. He was nervous. He didn’t know how to act around Dick. That was obvious. _So if he is married they don’t have kids_ , Dick decided.

In his time at the circus he had seen countless kids. Sometimes they got separated from their parents in the large crowds. Depressed or crying, if his father had come across one he would have them calmed in a second. Dick had once asked him how he did it. How did he know just what to say to cheer them up? ‘It’s a Dad thing,’ he’d said as he ruffled Dick’s hair, ‘Keeping little birds happy is what we do best.’

Mr. Wayne had seemed so uncomfortable just opening the Warden’s door for Dick. As though he were afraid he would offend him in some way by doing so. Why would anyone find that offensive? _No_ , Dick thought again as he carefully traced a line on the window with his finger, _He doesn’t know anything about kids_.

He diverted his eyes to the man for a brief second to see if he at least had a wife. No wedding ring. Dick was truly puzzled now.

Why would Mr. Wayne want to take him in? A single man, with money, and no wife? Dick wasn’t a genius, but he was fairly sure people didn’t do things like this. Especially people from Gotham City… unless they were up to something illegal.

But then again, Bruce Wayne had already passed under Dick’s critical eye. He was one of the good ones. He wouldn’t hurt Dick.

No… there was only one reason a man like Mr. Wayne would take him in. Pity.

Dick didn’t need pity. He didn’t need sympathy. He needed to be wanted. If Mr. Wayne was only doing this because he felt sorry for what Dick had experienced… well, it just wouldn’t be real. This man might feed him, give him a warm bed, clothe him in actual clothes instead of the Juvenile Hall’s uniform; but what if he didn’t even like Dick?

The physical trauma he had gone through could be easily fixed with nourishment, sleep, and a few bandages. What he needed was someone who could help him emotionally. Dick wasn’t dumb. He knew he needed help. He didn’t want to be moody and withdrawn for the rest of his life. He wanted to smile. He wanted to laugh again. But he needed a reason to; was Mr. Wayne capable of helping him with that? The current silence in the car didn’t reassure him.

He sighed and closed his eyes, imagining what his parents would say if they could hear the pity party he was throwing in his head.

 _Richard John Grayson_ , his mother would’ve scolded, _This man just got you out of that horrible cell. You shouldn’t be so critical of him._

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” he mumbled softly, speaking Romani in case Mr. Wayne heard him, “ _It’s just so hard without you. I don’t know what to do_.”

 _We know, son_ , he imagined his father’s voice, _But you can’t stop living because we’re gone. Give him a chance, he seems like a good person… not everyone can be good with people_.

“ _I’ll try, but…”_

 _No ‘buts’, little robin,_ his mother reprimanded, _Be strong. Be happy. For us._

He sighed, “ _Alright, I promise_.”

He was sure most people would think he was crazy, pretending to talk to his dead parents like that. But he didn’t care. He felt better then he’d felt since that night.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t realize the car had stopped. He jumped when someone opened his door. An old man in a neatly pressed suit was holding an umbrella over his head. Dick didn’t even need to study him to know he could be trusted. He was what Dick always thought a grandfather would look like, having never met either of his own. A kind weathered face, a small warm smile. But it still startled him.

“ _Who are you_?” Dick blurted out in his shock. Then he realized that it was probably rude to ask that and he was still speaking Romani anyway. He looked down in embarrassment. “Sorry,” he said, his voice was weak and his accent could be clearly heard.

The man just smiled, “That’s quite alright, sir,” he had an accent too, like the people Dick had met overseas at a show in London. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth,” he introduced himself with a slight bow; “I cook the meals and keep the house clean.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dick managed quietly, “My name is Richard Grayson.”

“Yes sir, I know,” Mr. Pennyworth nodded, “I’ve just finished preparing your room.” He offered his hand, “Would you care to come inside, Master Richard? You might catch a cold in this rain.”

Dick tilted his head in confusion. Master? He’d only ever heard that word at the circus when Pop Haley introduced himself as the ‘Ringmaster’. That obviously wasn’t what Mr. Pennyworth had meant. Maybe it was part of the language the older man had spoken before he learned English.

Cautiously, he slid his hand into Mr. Pennyworth’s and let himself be helped out of the car. He almost fell over, eyes enormous in wonder, when he got his first look at Mr. Wayne’s home. It looked more like a fortress than a house. Big, dark, intimidating. “ _This is crazy_ ,” he whispered to himself before he glanced at Mr. Pennyworth and timidly asked, “How many people live here?”

“I, Master Bruce, and now you, sir.”

Dick didn’t think his eyes could get any wider, but it turned out he was wrong. Just the three of them? It looked big enough to hold Pop Haley’s entire circus… Big Top and elephant included. “ _Crazy_ ,” he muttered again.

He heard the sound of the trunk shutting and turned slightly to see Mr. Wayne sliding a ring full of keys into his pocket while clutching the handle of a small suitcase in his other hand. It was Dick’s suitcase. The one the social worker had packed. The guards had taken it from him the day of the funeral and locked it into storage with Peanut.

“Come along, Master Richard,” Mr. Pennyworth said pleasantly as he gently pulled Dick towards the door, “We’ll show you to your room so you can wash up while I fix you something to eat. What would you like?”

Dick frowned. He knew he needed to eat. It had been at least a day and a half since he had anything… even then it was just one slightly bruised apple. He couldn’t remember when he’d last had a full meal. He was just at that point. Where he knew he should eat but felt like he’d be sick to his stomach if he did. One look at Mr. Pennyworth told him that he didn’t have a choice, though. He had the same look on his face that Dick’s mother did when he refused to eat his vegetables.

“I don’t know, sir,” he said softly, “Anything is fine I guess.”

“Very well,” Mr. Pennyworth said with a slight sigh, “Perhaps some soup would be best. And please, call me Alfred.”

Dick just nodded as they walked inside. The entryway was large and echoey, with dark wooden floors, red carpeted stairs at the end of the hall, and a glittering chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There were a few doors and arched openings leading to different rooms as well. The storm outside made everything seem gloomier than it probably was… he hoped. Alfred let go of his hand, closed the umbrella, and placed it in a bucket-type thing by the door.

“Master Bruce,” he turned to Mr. Wayne, “would you please show Master Richard to his room and help him get settled.” Dick could tell it wasn’t really a question.

Mr. Wayne twitched, looking flustered. He opened and closed his mouth a few times as though he were trying to say something but didn’t know what words would fit. Dick kind of knew how he felt… it had been the same for him when he first started using English.

He managed to mumble, “Sure.” But it hardly mattered because Alfred had already left them. Mr. Wayne looked down at Dick and tried to smile, but he was too nervous for it to look like more than a grimace.

“So…” Mr. Wayne said awkwardly, “your room is… upstairs.” Dick just tilted his head curiously. “Why don’t you… I’ll… follow me,” he finally formed a complete sentence. Without another word he turned and led the way up the stairs.

Dick sighed and went after him. At least living here was going to be interesting. He could tell.


	5. Sort of Settling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized quotations indicate the speaker is using another language.

When Dick walked into his ‘room’, he couldn’t’ help but think that their trailer would have fit inside it two times over. The bed alone was like their kitchen and family area combined. And it was so empty.

He’d spent eight years in a cramped, messy, disorganized mobile home. Movement had been limited. He couldn’t count how many times his parents had bumped into each other and ended up laughing and kissing while he wrinkled his nose. Whatever his mother cooked would quickly fill the rooms with their aroma… a problem, in Dick’s opinion, when she decided to make meatloaf. Usually he slept on the couch, being so short that it wasn’t at all uncomfortable; but sometimes when it got too cold his parents would let him sleep with them, curled up in the middle of the small bed.

This place seemed too big. For one thing, there wasn’t any furniture except for the bed, a dresser with a mirror, a nightstand, and a long wooden trunk at the end of the bed. There were no pictures or decorations on the walls. The tall window was covered with long drapes making the room dark and slightly creepy. _Everything_ in the room was dark. Dark mahogany. Dark wooden floors. Pitch black comforter.

Nowhere near the bright colors and cheerful environment to which he was accustomed.

Mr. Wayne flipped on the light and walked across the room to put the suitcase on the bed. He appeared to be even more nervous now than he’d been downstairs. Maybe because they were alone now and he’d actually have to talk. “So… your closet is over here. And this is the bathroom,” Mr. Wayne walked around indicating the doors, “Alfred has already bought you some new clothes… I thought you might like your old things too.”

Dick glanced at the suitcase. He had never actually opened it so he wasn’t sure what was in it. At her office, the social worker had shoved a t shirt and jeans into his hands and told him to change out of his performance outfit… he hadn’t been able to stop himself from throwing up when he saw the blood on it. Was it still stained? He wasn’t sure if he should find out.

Still he nodded, “Thank you.” Those were the first words he’d spoken to Mr. Wayne directly. Just two words, but still they were enough to make the man shift uncomfortably and run a hand through his damp hair.

“I’ll, um… I’ll just let you get cleaned up,” Mr. Wayne said. He was out of the room before Dick could even blink. But the boy barely noticed.

He had already turned his attention back to the suitcase. Cautiously, he approached the bed. As though he were afraid it would eat him up. He gripped the zipper and took a deep breath, hoping his stomach was too empty for him to throw up. As he slowly opened the lid he was expecting the worst. He’d managed to convince himself that the rain had seeped into the bag, made the blood runny again, and now all of his clothes would be painful red reminders of that horrible night. What he wasn’t expecting was…

“Peanut!” he gasped in shock. There, lying on the clothes, staring up at Dick with black button eyes, was the elephant. Light purple ‘skin’, rainbow polka-dot hat and bandana, floppy ears, and stringy tail. He looked exactly the same as the last time Dick had seen him; that was a relief.

He gently lifted the toy out of the case and squeezed him close. With his head buried in the familiar stuffed animal Dick felt comforted for the first time in a while. Nothing about his life was making any sense. Everything was changing so fast and too often. But at least Peanut would stay the same. He even smelled like home.

“ _We’re going to be alright, Peanut_ ,” he murmured, “ _We’re together now_.”

He stood there for a few more minutes rocking slightly as he tried to convince himself that it was true. He would be alright… eventually. Finally he opened his eyes and looked back at the suitcase. Another surprise greeted him.

His uniform was on top. It was slightly crumpled but it was clean. Dick set Peanut on the bed and carefully lifted the brightly colored costume. There wasn’t a speck of dirt or a drop of…

He tilted his head in bewilderment, considering; the social worker wouldn’t have cleaned it, would she? Maybe she just didn’t want it to start smelling if left unwashed. He glanced at the suitcase once more. Just some casual clothes, socks, and a pair of pajamas. He picked out some clean clothes, replaced the uniform, and started to close the case. Then he noticed something in the lining of the top.

He remembered the case had been an anniversary gift to his parents from Marco, the illusionist. They’d told him it was special because it had a secret compartment where they could keep their most valuable possessions. Dick had wondered what they kept in it for a long time but never got around to asking. They weren’t exactly rich… what had his parents thought precious enough to keep hidden away?

He slid his hand around the corners of the fabric until he found the hidden latch and pulled it down. His eyes stung when he saw what was inside. What his parents had considered their most valuable possessions.

Pictures. Pictures of their family.

His hands were shaking as he pulled out the small stack of snapshots. They weren’t anything special really; a lot of them were fuzzy or out of focus. But to him they were more beautiful than anything a professional could’ve done. Because they were of the everyday things that had seemed so normal and probably boring at the time. Eating ice cream on the trailer roof with his father, spraying his mother with the water hose while giving Zitka a bath, all three of them laughing as they sat on the trapeze using it as a swing. Then there was the one he’d taken of his parents one night after practice. They had been so tired that they’d just crashed on the couch, still in their uniforms. His father had his arms spread across the top and his legs stretched halfway across the small room; his mother was curled into his side with her head on his chest, auburn hair falling into her eyes. They just looked so peaceful and content Dick hadn’t been able to resist taking the picture. He had shown it to everybody before his parents even woke up. They’d laughed afterwards.

Dick set the photographs on the bed and swiped at his eyes with the back of one hand. How was it possible to feel so much pain and comfort at the same time? The English had a word for it… bittersweet, he thought it was called.

There was only one other thing in the secret compartment. It seemed to be a large, white piece of paper. But it was more than that. Before Dick even turned it over he knew what it was.

‘THE AMAZING FLYING GRAYSONS: PERFORMING DEATH-DEFYING STUNTS WITHOUT THE SAFETY OF THE NET!’ That’s what was written at the bottom of the poster. In big bold letters. Three silhouetted figures filled the rest of the page. Black on a yellow background with small circled Gs on their chests, right above their hearts.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the words ‘death-defying’. He couldn’t help it. He would’ve kept on staring too… probably for hours. But he could hear someone moving outside the closed door.

He jerked out of his stupor and closed the suitcase, hiding the poster and pictures under one of the abnormally large pillows. Then he grabbed his clothes and hurried into the bathroom to clean himself up before Alfred or Mr. Wayne could come to check up on him.


	6. Wild Onion Soup for the Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized quotations indicate the speaker is using another language.

It took about twenty minutes for Dick to get all of the grime from his stay at Juvenile Hall off of him. They’d had showers there, of course. But Dick didn’t think that having two minutes to wash once a day was very sanitary. Especially when they had them before the hour of ‘recreation’. He wasn’t sure if that was how every cell block did it, but the guard of his block had found it amusing for some reason.

For the first time in weeks Dick felt refreshed. Clean clothes, wet hair, brushed teeth. He felt like a different person. He really wanted to climb into the bed and try to get a few hours of sleep; but seeing how much he had to tighten his belt to keep his pants from slipping, he decided maybe food wasn’t such a bad idea.

The only problem was he knew he’d get lost trying to find the kitchen. This place was so big. For all he knew, there were twelve kitchens. What if he found the wrong one and had to just sit there waiting for someone to find him?

He opened the door and jumped back a step when he saw Alfred standing there waiting for him. “Ah, Master Richard,” his face was expressionless but there seemed to be a merry twinkle in his eyes, “I see you did not fall down the drain after all.”

Dick’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion, “Drain?”

“Yes, young sir,” Alfred explained patiently, “The drain is the device which carries away the water once you are done with it. But I believe you would recognize it by a different word.” And then Alfred shocked him with the Romani pronunciation, and only the slightest trace of an accent.

“You speak Romani?” Dick questioned with widened eyes.

“Of course. I assumed you would know that after I answered your earlier question about who I was.”

“Oh,” Dick looked down slightly embarrassed. He wondered if Mr. Wayne spoke it too. If so, then he would have understood what Dick had said in the car. Known that he was talking to his dead parents. He could feel his cheeks color in mortification.

“No need to give it another thought,” Alfred assured him, “Now if you are ready, I have fixed a French onion soup.” Dick pursed his lips in thought as Alfred led him down the stairs. He’d heard the word ‘onion’ before and he knew it was a food but he just couldn’t place it.

Alfred looked down at him as they walked and frowned. It made Dick feel self-conscious. _Is it my clothes?_ He thought tugging on his t shirt. Maybe they weren’t dressy enough to wear in a place like this. He probably should have worn the things Mr. Wayne had said Alfred bought for him. He didn’t want to do anything that might offend either of them. Whatever he was expected to do here had to be better than that prison.

“Pardon my asking, Master Richard,” the older man’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “but did they give you any food at that place?”

That hadn’t been what he was expecting, and he hesitated in his reply. He was going over the English in his head to make sure he answered the question accurately. Finally he nodded, “Yes, they gave me food.”

Alfred studied him thoughtfully and somewhat skeptically. Dick couldn’t understand why. He had answered the question honestly. They _had_ given him food. Alfred sighed after a while, “Did you eat all the food they gave you?”

This question was easier, “No.”

“May I ask why?”

“I guess so,” Dick said slowly. He wondered why Alfred needed permission to ask a question. Whenever he was curious about something he just came right out and asked someone.

When Dick didn’t say anything else, Alfred raised an eyebrow. Then his expression changed to one of amusement and he asked, “Why did you not the food they gave you?”

“Because people…” Dick screwed up his face and looked around trying to find the right word, “They… _took_ …” he thought for another moment, “They called it ‘stealing’ I think.”

The amused look was replaced by one of concern, “They took your food?” Dick nodded as they arrived at what must have been the kitchen. He could smell the ‘onion’ soup through the door and his stomach growled, not for the first time that day.

Alfred opened the door and gently pushed him inside. It was roomy and everything was so clean it seemed to shine. There was one counter in the middle of the kitchen area that was separate from all the others. Dick had never seen anything like it. A table much bigger than the old fold-out one in their trailer was set up a short distance from cooking section. There were two places set. Dick wondered if the other was for Alfred or Mr. Wayne.

“You may sit down, Master Richard,” Alfred motioned towards the table, “I shall bring you your soup.”

Dick didn’t say anything as he climbed into one of the chairs and settled his hands in his lap. Mr. Wayne walked in then and gave him an awkward smile as he sat down in the other chair. “You seem… refreshed,” he said stiltedly, trying to make conversation.

“Yes, sir,” was all Dick could manage as he stared at the placemat. There was an uneasy silence as Alfred set two bowls down in front of them. He shot Mr. Wayne a disapproving look, but Dick didn’t notice. He had picked up the spoon and took a cautious sip.

His eyes widened. He knew what an ‘onion’ was now. “ _Wild onion soup_ ,” he muttered with the tiniest hint of a smile. His mother had made it often, mostly in the fall months.

Alfred smiled and went back into the cooking area and started wiping down the counters. They looked perfectly clean to Dick. “You were saying before, Master Richard,” the old man said conversationally, “that someone had been stealing your food at the Juvenile Prison?”

“Yes, sir,” Dick answered taking another careful sip. He was afraid if he ate too fast it would all come back up later.

“When did you last eat?” It was the first thing that Mr. Wayne had said without a trace of hesitation. Dick was surprised to see the serious look on his frowning face.

Dick tilted his head as he thought. He knew what he wanted to say but the words were so much easier to say in his mind than out loud. He looked to Alfred for help, “ _Yesterday_?”

“Yesterday?” Mr. Wayne was the one to answer.

Dick nodded and once again said, “Yes, sir.”

“When yesterday?” Mr. Wayne sounded upset, “What did you eat?”

Dick shrugged, discomfort rising, “I had an apple… but I don’t remember when.” He couldn’t tell if it was him that Mr. Wayne was upset with. Was he too weak? Did Mr. Wayne want someone who could defend themselves?

“And before the apple?” Mr. Wayne pressed, “When and what did you eat?”

Dick looked down and tried not to fidget too much as he thought. “I don’t… I can’t… uh, _remember_.”

Mr. Wayne seemed to be studying him, which just unnerved him even more. “The bruise on your cheek,” Mr. Wayne finally spoke, voice dropping to a lower register, “how did you get that?”

“Bruise?” Dick repeated touching his cheek. It was hard to think in English terms while being scrutinized so intensely.

Mr. Wayne repeated himself in Romani.

“The guard?” Dick felt his voice shake, small and uncertain. Mr. Wayne scowled and slapped his hand down on the table. It wasn’t hard or loud but it still startled the boy. He flinched and accidently knocked his hand against his glass of water, sending it tumbling onto its side. Fortunately, it didn’t break, but water and ice began to spread rapidly towards the edge of the table.

“ _Sorry_!” he yelped as he jumped up and tried to stop it with his cloth napkin, “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t _mean to_.” He didn’t even realize he was switching back and forth between Romani and English as he continued to apologize.

Mr. Wayne and Alfred seemed too frozen in shock to do anything for a moment, but Mr. Wayne was the first to recover. He tried to take over with the napkin, but Dick shrunk away from his raised hand and closed his eyes in frightened anticipation. Alfred quickly took control of the situation when he saw Mr. Wayne was only making it worse.

He grabbed a roll of paper towels and had the spill cleaned up in mere seconds, before it even had time to reach the floor. Then he gently pried the napkin from the shivering child’s hand and sat him down in the seat. “Everything is alright, Master Richard,” he soothed, “No one here is going to hurt you. You’ve done nothing wrong; it was simply an accident.”

He continued talking softly until Dick calmed down and surreptitiously shot Mr. Wayne an annoyed look. Looking sheepish and quite flustered the other man excused himself and left the room. “There now,” Alfred gave Dick’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “Master Bruce can be a bit insensitive at times but I can promise that he won’t hurt you, Master Richard. No need to fret.”

Dick glanced at the door Mr. Wayne had left through, eyes stinging and still a bit skeptical. But then again, Dick had already decided he was trustworthy. Trustworthy people didn’t hit eight-year-olds, right?

He turned back to Alfred, who looked like he was waiting for some kind of response. Dick slowly nodded and the old man looked relieved.

“Good,” he said straightening and moving to throw away the soiled paper towels, “Why don’t you finish your soup and then we’ll put you to bed?”

“Alright,” Dick said softly as he picked his spoon back up. But he didn’t eat anything. He was frowning into the bowl with a look of complete concentration on his face. Finally he looked back up and asked, “What is ‘fret’?”

Alfred smiled.


	7. A Knight of Remembrance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized quotations indicate the speaker is using a different language.

Dick sat cross legged on his bed. He’d been staring intently at the digital clock on the nightstand for nearly an hour. It was getting late now; three minutes till half past seven. If he was going to do this today he was running out of time. There was still a chance he could convince Alfred, but the longer he waited the more likely the answer would be ‘no’.

All day long he’d been trying to work up the courage to ask. But every time he ran into the old man the words would get stuck in his throat. Then Mr. Wayne had gotten back from work and Dick had closed himself up in his room.

He’d been at Wayne Manor for two weeks now, but he still wasn’t comfortable around Mr. Wayne. That was okay, though. He only ever saw the man at breakfast and occasionally dinner. Their conversations were limited to ‘good mornings’ and ‘how did you sleeps?’ Mr. Wayne would leave for Wayne Tower and wouldn’t come back until around five. Shortly afterwards, he would go into the small study on the second floor and lock the door. Sometimes he’d skip dinner, leaving Dick to eat alone, and Alfred would take him something on a silver tray.

Dick wondered what kind of ‘paperwork’, as Mr. Wayne had called it, took so much time that he couldn’t finish it until well after midnight. Dick had woken up from a nightmare a few days before and heard Mr. Wayne walking by his room. It had been past three in the morning. He’d asked Alfred why Mr. Wayne stayed up so late, but all the butler had said was, “Master Bruce is a very important businessman. He likes to be sure everything in his company is in order before he takes personal time.”

Dick didn’t know what a businessman did. But if it took so much time out of your day, even when you weren’t at work, it couldn’t be very enjoyable.

As awkward as things were with Mr. Wayne, Dick liked being at Wayne Manor okay. Mostly because of Alfred. He had been kind and patient with Dick ever since that first day. Helping him adjust. Teaching him how speak and read ‘proper’ English. And he was an amazing cook. He’d even managed to get Dick to smile a few times. Small smiles… but still an accomplishment.

That’s why Dick had wanted to talked to him about today. Alfred would probably understand better than Mr. Wayne.

The clock ticked over to 7:30 and Dick took a deep breath. Mr. Wayne should be in his study by now; it would be safe to talk to Alfred without interruption, and hopefully he would agree to help.

Dick hopped off of the bed and started for the kitchen, where Alfred was sure to be. He stepped through the door and found Alfred positioned by the sink, rag in hand as he polished the silverware.

“Master Richard,” Alfred greeted with a smile, “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to.”

“To my room,” Dick mumbled as his stomach filled with butterflies.

Alfred frowned and looked at him curiously, “You seem to have something on your mind?”

Dick sat down at the table, “I wanted to ask you if… maybe I could have a few flowers from your garden?”

It was a simple enough question; but it must have been obvious that there was more to the request, for Alfred’s eyes sharpened in attention at Dick’s tone. “I suppose that would be alright,” he agreed, sounding pleasant enough, “May I ask what you would be doing with them?”

Dick had realized by now that when Alfred said ‘May I’ he wasn’t asking for permission to ask his question. That had confused him the first few days. He was just allowing Dick to decide whether or not to answer.

“Well… I was wondering if maybe…” he looked down and his voice seemed to get softer as he spoke, “Maybe you could drive me to the _cemetery_.” He couldn’t remember the English word for it. “I would like to leave them for my… for my parents.”

Alfred’s face softened, “Of course, Master Richard. Should we leave after breakfast tomorrow?”

“ _Actually_ ,” he felt his cheeks heat up slightly as he found himself struggling with his English once again. Mostly it happened when he thought about his parents. It was getting better, but sometimes he just subconsciously slipped back into Romani. He sighed and focused on his words, “Actually, I was hoping we could go now.”

At this Alfred hesitated. “It is getting quite late…” he speculated delicately, “the sun will have set completely by the time we get there.”

“I know,” Dick looked down, “but it wouldn’t be the same… _tomorrow_.”

“And may I ask why, young Master?” Alfred had put the silverware away so he could join Dick at the table.

Dick wrung his hands in nervousness and tried to explain, “Today was special. It was the day I landed my first… _quadruple_?”

“Quadruple,” Alfred supplied.

“Qua-dru-ple,” Dick sounded out carefully, “My first quadruple flip. Only a few people in the _whole world_ -“

“Whole world,” Alfred interrupted gently.

“Right,” Dick had been getting carried away, “Well, my Dat said it was an important… _sign_?”

“Sign.”

“It was a sign that I was on my way to becoming a real man… like him. They said we had to ce-celebrate?” he looked at Alfred questioningly. The old man nodded and Dick finished, “We spent the day together… just the three of us. I’d like to… do something for them. In memory?” He bit his lip as he waited to hear what the old man would say.

Alfred stood up and gave him a small smile, “Then we had better get going right away, hadn’t we?”

* * *

Dick tightened his grip on the flowers as Alfred guided him through the cemetery by the hand. He didn’t know what he was feeling. All of his thoughts had become so jumbled on the car ride. He vaguely remembered thinking that there were too many headstones. Too many people taken away from the ones that they loved and who loved them in return.

Was it strange that he found it somewhat comforting? Not the fact that all of these people were dead, of course. But in a way it was reassuring… knowing he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t the only one grieving. Trying to fill the void his parents had left in his heart.

Every stone they passed Dick found himself wondering about the people buried there. Who they were, what their story was… how they had died. But the closer he came to his parents graves, the more those thoughts faded away. Every thought faded away except for the one that had been haunting his nightmares. The image of his parents as he had last seen them.

He wasn’t going to think about that, though. He refused. This was supposed to be a day for happy memories. The day he had landed a quadruple flip. The day he and his parents had left Haley’s circus behind to see the sights of the town they’d been performing in that week. To make the day one he’d never forget. Just the three of them.

His parents taken him to a restaurant for the very first time. _That_ had certainly been memorable in how they’d nearly been thrown out. But the waitress had given him those crayons. How was he supposed to know it was frowned upon to color on the table? It hadn’t been a nice table anyway; boring and white. Dick thought they would’ve appreciated him giving it ‘character’ as Archibald, the tattooed man, would say.

His father had scolded him then, in front of the angry waitress and her manager; but as soon as they were out of there and far enough away, his parents had burst out laughing. He was just relieved they weren’t really mad.

Dick couldn’t help but smile sadly as he played that day over again in his head.

“Master Richard?” Dick hadn’t realized they’d stopped walking, but now his breath caught in his throat when he saw their names. John and Mary Grayson.

Alfred let go of his hand and nudged him gently forward. “I’ll be right here,” the older man assured him, “Take whatever time you need.”

“Thank you,” Dick said softly, not taking his eyes off of the graves. Very carefully he approached the polished stones, a breeze rippling through his hair. He noticed that Alfred had stopped at just the right distance. Close enough to see Dick in the rapidly dimming light; but far enough that Dick could talk to his parents if he wanted, without being overheard. That wasn’t a problem though, Dick wasn’t sure he could say anything without getting choked up.

He felt like he was in a trance as he separated the flowers, arranging them in the proper holders. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out one of the pictures they had taken that day, just to see their faces.

It had been one of his mother’s favorites. She’d even had a bigger copy made to hang over the couch. The three of them were sitting on the edge of a fountain. They’d had to squeeze close together because his father was taking the picture himself. Big smiles, wind-blown hair, a dot of chocolate ice cream still on the tip of Dick’s nose.

His eyes stung and he bit his lip in an attempt to stop the tears. He wished they were here with every fiber of his being. He missed them so much it felt like there was a constant ache in his chest, like his heart had been stolen away from him right along with them. His hands were trembling… he felt like maybe he _should_ say something before Alfred called for them to leave.

But he didn’t get the chance.

There had been a storm brewing when they left for the graveyard. What had been a steady breeze when they’d arrived was now a strong continuous wind. Dick’s grip was so precarious on the photograph that it was finally ripped away and blown across the ground towards the line of the trees.

“No!” he shouted his denial, jumping to his feet without thought to run after it. He vaguely heard Alfred calling out for him to stop but he ignored the older gentleman and disappeared into the trees.

The photo flitted back and forth as though it were toying with him. Leading him on a never-ending chase. Dick was starting to get a stitch in his side by the time he saw it snagged by a bush. A raindrop fell onto his arm. Alfred was going to be upset with him for running off like that, especially since it was looking like they’d get soaked before they reached the car.

As long as he was in trouble anyway, Dick was determined to get his picture back. He approached it cautiously, afraid it would fly away again if he moved too quickly. He got on his hands and knees and very carefully pried it from the branches, breathing a sigh of relief once it was safely in his grasp again.

Dick made to stand up, but a muffled voice froze him in place, “-got the merchandise?”

“If you’ve got the money,” another replied. Dick got onto his stomach and peeked under the foliage at the two people standing a few feet away. One of them shifted and it sounded like he’d tossed something to the other. A steady drizzle was falling now.

“Count it if ya want,” the first voiced flippantly, “I got all night.”

“Yeah?” the other sounded much more peeved, “Well I don’t. I got the evening tour.”

“Then looks like you’re gonna have ta take my word.”

The other one snorted, “Or just quit doing my business with you if ya double-crossed me.”

“Whatever,” Dick could almost hear a shrug in the man’s voice, “It’s there, ya follow? Where’s the stuff?”

Dick frowned. He didn’t have to see these two to know they were up to no good. They had to be doing something illegal. But there was no way he could call the police right now, and they’d be gone by the time he could. Maybe he could get a look at their faces. That might help. And he wouldn’t be letting them get away with… whatever they were doing.

Then again, they could be dangerous. What would they do if they saw him trying to sneak away? He couldn’t defend himself against two grown men.

“Master Richard?” a voice cut through the wind and light rain. Dick’s eyes widened as the men turned towards the sound. Alfred’s shoes appeared far to the left of his line of vision and Dick’s only thought was, _Not good_.

“Oh,” Alfred stopped in surprise, “I beg your pardon, but have you seen a young boy in this area?”

Dick slid backwards and slowly poked his head out to get a better look at the scene. The two men had their backs to him, so the only thing he could tell about them was they were well built and tall. Alfred was in a better position to see Dick, but the rain was getting heavier every second. It was hard for Dick to make out his expression, but he imagined it was lined with worry.

“Can’t say that we have,” one of the guys spoke up. The one that had supposedly brought the ‘merchandise’. “You sure he came in this direction?” He seemed to be trying to play it casual, but his companion was a different story. From where he stood, Dick could see him pulling something out of his belt.

Dick didn’t think, he just darted out of his hiding place, “Alfred look out, he’s got a gun!”

The butler dropped to the ground with surprising speed as the guy fired at him. The other one turned to face Dick and Alfred’s voice was commanding as he yelled, “Run, Master Richard!”

Dick didn’t question him. He sprinted through the downpour without looking back and hoped Alfred would be okay. Maybe that one guy had a gun, but Alfred was smart…

The one with the ‘merchandise’ was chasing after him now, and Dick fortunately had a bit of a head start. He ran back and forth in a zig zagging pattern in an effort to throw the man off his trail. But his legs were a lot shorter than his pursuer’s and the rain was making it difficult not to trip over his own feet.

Then he saw it; the perfect thing to keep him hidden. Putting on an extra burst of speed, Dick changed direction slightly. In one fluid motion he fell into a cartwheel, turned it into a back-handspring, and used his momentum to flip twice. At the arch of the second one he extended his body. His hands gripped the tree branch he’d been aiming for and he swung himself upwards to perch on it and wait for the bad guy to run by underneath him.

The man didn’t even pause as he barreled past. He hadn’t seen.

Dick was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he heard a loud crack. What he hadn’t been able to see from the ground was that this branch had been damaged by an earlier storm. Barely hanging on to the tree, it only needed a small amount of pressure to break.

Before he knew what was happening Dick was on his back, blinking rain out of his eyes and trying to get breath back into his lungs. And on top of that, the man had doubled back at the noise. He quickly had Dick pinned beneath him, struggling weakly.

“No!” Dick screamed, “Alfred! _Help_!” The man clamped a hand over his mouth turning his cries into muffled protests. He pulled a knife out and Dick struggled harder, hands curling to fists and pounding ineffectively at the man’s chest.

“Sorry kid,” the man muttered shaking his head, “Looks like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Don’t worry… I’ll make it quick.”

This made no sense to Dick. How could you tell a person not to worry when you were about to kill them? His heart was pounding in his chest, like it was trying to beat out all the years that were about to be stolen from him. He closed his eyes and waited to die…

But then the man cried out in pain and his hand released Dick’s mouth. Something made a ‘thunking’ sound as it embedded itself into a nearby tree. The knife fell from the man’s hand to the ground, nearly slicing Dick’s ear in its descent.

Dick gasped and shivered, trying to figure out what had just happened. The man was clutching his knife hand as though it pained him and looking around with ill-disguised fear in his eyes. Dick turned his head and squinted to where a strange looking knife was sticking out of a tree. It was hard to tell what it was supposed to be, but it looked like an animal. A bat?

The man grabbed the knife again, got off of Dick, and pulled the boy in front of himself… a human shield. He muttered something that sounded like ‘Fat man’ and held the knife to Dick’s neck. “Come any closer and I’ll kill the kid!”

 _Wasn’t he going to do that anyway?_ Dick thought. Then he registered what the guy had said. Not ‘Fat man’. “Batman,” he repeated so quietly it was impossible for anyone else to hear.

Dick had heard that name before. A lot while he was in Juvenile Hall; kids there were always talking about how ‘the Bat’ had busted their parents. He was something they called a ‘vigilante’. Other than that he didn’t know anything about the man. But since the guy threatening to cut his throat was scared of him…

Still, there was no way Batman could catch the creep when Dick was being used as leverage. He had to at least put a bit of distance between himself and the bad guy so Batman could act.

Dick took a deep, calming breath; he could do this. Then he raised his foot and kicked backwards with all his might, careful to keep his neck away from the knife. The guy cursed loudly when pain erupted in his shin. But Dick wasn’t done yet. He swung his elbow with force and the man promptly doubled over with a groan. Unfortunately for him, Dick wasn’t tall enough to reach his stomach. His hold on the knife loosened and the boy pushed it away.

He scrambled out of reach and turned in time to see a dark figure descend on his attempted murderer. His mind didn’t even have time to register what was happening; before he could take a breath the guy was lying on the ground, cuffed and unconscious. An enormous shadow that seemed more creature than man remained towering over the prone form before slowly turning away.

Dick took a quick step back and tripped over a stump. He landed rather ungracefully on his butt and swallowed. Batman was _much_ scarier than he’d imagined. He was completely decked in black, almost radiating darkness. The long cape and bat-like cowl would probably have looked ridiculous on most people… but this guy was too intimidating to draw a laugh.

Dick tried not to shudder when Batman walked over and kneeled in front of him. “Are you alright?” he questioned in a low gruff voice. Dick could only manage a small nod. Without another word, the man reached inside one of the pockets of a belt around his waist. He handed Dick the picture of him and his parents… he must’ve dropped it while being chased. When the boy looked back up Batman was gone.


	8. Shift in Relations

Mr. Wayne was just coming into the foyer looking confused when Alfred and Dick made it back to the Manor. He raised an eyebrow when they came in dripping wet and covered in mud. Dick could understand his surprise; it had to be at least an hour and a half past his bedtime, and Alfred didn’t strike him as the sort of person you saw with even a strand of hair out of place on any given day.

“Well this is a bit unexpected,” Mr. Wayne finally commented as they took off their soaked jackets. “Where have you two been on such a dreary evening?”

“The cemetery,” Alfred answered. He returned the umbrella he had been carrying to its proper place; it hadn’t been too helpful in the long run, “Master Richard wanted to place some flowers at the gravesite.”

“And you decided to roll in a mud puddle afterwards?” Mr. Wayne squinted in bemusement. Alfred gave him an annoyed look and pulled two towels from a small cabinet on the wall.

“It was either the puddle or the bullet, Master Bruce,” he said starchily as he wrapped one of the towels around Dick’s shoulders. Mr. Wayne frowned and started to say something but a sneeze from Dick cut him off.

“Sorry,” the boy shivered and wrapped his arms tighter against the cold.

“Master Richard,” Alfred gently touched his head, “why don’t you go upstairs and change into your pajamas? I’ll make you some hot chocolate. Then we can explain what happened to Master Bruce.”

Dick nodded and slowly made his way up the stairs. He thought he heard Mr. Wayne and Alfred talking, but he was too tired to try and listen in on their conversation. Mr. Wayne was probably just asking if they were alright.

Ten minutes later, Dick was sitting cross legged on the couch in the living room closest to the door. He was wrapped in a blanket, a cup of warm chocolate drink on the coffee table in front of him. Alfred was sitting next to him with tweezers and gauze at the ready. He had Dick’s left hand held in his own and was meticulously removing the splinters. Dick hadn’t noticed them before, what with running for his life and almost dying. They were definitely stinging now, refusing to go unnoticed any longer. He’d have to remember that if he was ever going to use a tree branch for acrobatics again he should wear gloves.

He winced as Alfred pulled what had to be the fiftieth one out… and they hadn’t even started the right hand. Mr. Wayne was sitting in an armchair, watching quietly. Dick couldn’t bring himself to be uncomfortable with the man’s presence, as he normally would. He was too exhausted to care.

“So…” Mr. Wayne broke the silence, “what happened?”

Alfred didn’t say anything but gave a slight nod when Dick looked up at him. Looked like he expected Dick to tell their story. “It was my fault,” he began with a sigh, just loud enough for both men to hear, “Alfred said it was getting too late to go. I just… I would’ve felt bad if I didn’t.”

He glanced at Mr. Wayne uncertainly before continuing, “A… w-wind?” Alfred hummed in confirmation, “A wind had started when we got there. It got stronger and it blew my pi-picture away.”

“And Master Richard chased after it,” Alfred added, disapproval clear. Dick looked down feeling guilty; he didn’t want to let the older man down.

Alfred seemed to sense how he was feeling. He finished wrapping the gauze around Dick’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Then he took up his right hand and started on it as Dick went on with his story.

“I found it in a bush,” he explained, “The picture. But then I heard two men talking. They said something about mer-mertz and…” He felt frustrated that he couldn’t remember the word. He still had a hard time with the big ones.

“Merchandise?” Mr. Wayne supplied. Dick was relieved that he wasn’t acting awkward and distant for once. And that he wasn’t getting worked up like that first day. He was letting Dick tell the story in his own way and time, simply listening.

“Yes, that was what they called it. Mer-chan-dise,” the word felt awkward on his tongue, but it sounded right. “One of them wanted money for the ‘merchandise’. The other said he didn’t have time to count it… something about an ‘evening tour’? I don’t know what he meant.” Mr. Wayne’s eyes narrowed minutely but he didn’t interrupt. “I could tell they weren’t good, and I thought maybe I could de-scribe them to the police later. But then Alfred…” he looked at the butler to tell his side.

“I was looking for Master Richard when I ran into those hooligans,” at Dick’s confused expression he elaborated, “Criminals. I, of course, had no idea they were shady, although they certainly looked it. I inquired if they had seen the young master, and then-“

“And then the one paying for the merchandise pulled out a gun!” Dick interrupted animatedly. He quickly shut his mouth and looked apologetic. “Sorry,” he mumbled cheeks reddening.

The butler just pursed his lips, as though trying to hide an amused smile. Mr. Wayne seemed to be having more trouble with that than Alfred. “Yes, well,” Alfred continued on, “Master Richard saw the gun from his hiding spot and warned me in time. I told him to run and one of the men went after him. Then I managed to find cover behind a tree, and when the other one had foolishly wasted all of his ammunition I came out of hiding. I disarmed him and hit him over the head with his own weapon for good measure. I ran into Master Richard shortly after and used the phone in the car to alert the authorities. Then we returned to the Manor.”

Dick stared at him with wide eyes, “You fought him all by yourself?”

“Of course, young Master,” Alfred said as though it were nothing, “ I was a member of Her Majesty’s secret service.”

“Who?” Dick frowned, tilting his head curiously.

“The Queen of England,” Mr. Wayne actually chuckled at Alfred’s affronted look.

“Oh,” Dick said, but he still wasn’t sure what they were talking about. Judging from the twinkle in Mr. Wayne’s eyes and the hopeless sigh from Alfred, he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“And while Alfred was fighting off the gunman,” Mr. Wayne said more seriously, “what happened to you, Richard?”

Dick fidgeted and looked away, “The other man was chasing me. He was faster than me, so I tried to hide from him in a tree. But the branch broke and I fell.”

“He caught you?” Mr. Wayne spoke softly. There was a look on his face that Dick couldn’t decipher, but he nodded slowly in confirmation. “And what happened then?”

This was the part Dick had dreaded recounting. He had been scared when it happened; but somehow telling it was worse. He really had been close to dying. The man had apologized… but he hadn’t even hesitated. He was going to kill Dick and he probably wouldn’t have lost any sleep over it.

“Do you need a moment, Master Richard?” Alfred had removed all of the splinters and was now handing Dick his hot chocolate.

“No,” Dick mumbled, accepting the cup, “It’s just… he had a knife. He wouldn’t let me up. And I couldn’t call for help.” His eyes watered and he scrunched his eyebrows in an effort to hold off tears, “He told me he was sorry, that I shouldn’t worry… and that he’d make it quick.”

Alfred looked very unhappy and was quick to put a comforting arm around his shoulders, “It’s alright, Master Richard. The police will have found him by now. He is most likely behind bars as we speak.”

Dick nodded but didn’t feel any better. Ever since he’d left that man lying there to wait for the police, he’d had this horrible feeling in his stomach. The fortune teller at the circus said she had those feelings all of the time. She called them ‘premonitions’.

“How did you get away?” Mr. Wayne’s voice interrupted his thoughts. It took a moment for the question to register.

“Batman saved me,” he perked up a little, actually giving the man a small smile. The first time he’d smiled in front of Mr. Wayne.

Mr. Wayne and Alfred looked at each other briefly and Mr. Wayne raised an eyebrow in surprise, “Batman?”

“What do you know about him?” Dick asked, curiosity bursting for more information on the man who’d saved his life. Alfred seemed amused by this question.

“About as much as anyone,” Mr. Wayne rubbed his chin, “From what I hear he prefers to stay in the shadows. There’s never even been a picture of him. Some people don’t believe he exits.”

Dick frowned thoughtfully, “Do you?”

Mr. Wayne smiled. A genuine, natural smile that for once didn’t look strained in the slightest. “I would have to considering how many times he’s saved _my_ life.”

“You’ve seen him before?” Dick leaned forward eagerly. His eyes brightened at Mr. Wayne’s nod. “He saved me,” Dick repeated solemnly, “And he even found my picture.”

“Really?” Mr. Wayne considered Dick contemplatively, and after a moment he asked, “And what did you think of him?”

Dick thought about it for a while, lips pursed and eyes on the still untouched liquid in his cup. Finally he looked up at Mr. Wayne, “He’s a bit intimat-intimi…” Dick huffed in frustration as the word escaped his memory.

“I believe the word you are looking for is intimidating, Master Richard,” Alfred supplied helpfully.

“Intimidating,” Mr. Wayne repeated, “In a scary way? Or in an impressive way?”

“Both,” Dick said without hesitation. He figured Mr. Wayne would ask what he meant so he just continued. “He looks scary, and he fights really… _aggressively_?”

“Aggressively.”

“Right. I’d probably be nervous if I met him again,” Dick admitted, “But I know he wouldn’t hurt me. I think he’s just… misunderstood?” Dick felt a small surge of pride at the confirming nod. His English was getting better. “He has to be intimidating to scare criminals, right? Even if he scares normal people too… he’s just trying to help them.” His eyes lit up again as another thought hit him, “Maybe that’s why he likes staying in the shadows.”

Mr. Wayne seemed interested in his response. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Dick explained, “he wants to intimidate criminals, right? In a city like Gotham, he’d have to be just as scary as they are or they wouldn’t take him ser-seriously. He helps people, but he can’t get close to them without messing up his image? So… he just stays in the shadows.” Dick looked from Alfred to Mr. Wayne; they seemed to be considering his words more seriously than anyone else probably would.

Finally Mr. Wayne cleared his throat and nodded, “That’s an interesting theory, Richard.”

“Thanks,” Dick’s cheeks colored at the complement. Then he straightened, struck by a sudden idea, “Do you know what I think Batman needs?”

“What would that be, young sir?” Alfred inquired sounding honestly curious.

“He needs a partner,” Dick said firmly, “Someone who can get closer to the people he helps. Someone they wouldn’t be scared of; Batman’s partner could com-comfort the… what’s the word?”

"Victims?” Alfred offered, but he sounded a bit distant and he was staring at Mr. Wayne intently.

“The partner could comfort the victims,” Dick continued, “And Batman could keep his image.” He looked at the two men again, but they still had weird expressions on their faces. Dick frowned wondering what he’d said. “Mr. Wayne?” his voice was smaller in his uncertainty, “What do you think?”

Mr. Wayne blinked and stared at Dick for a minute. Slowly he nodded. “It makes sense,” he agreed carefully as he glanced at Alfred, “But… finding a partner that could fight and was also good with people, that would probably be very difficult.”

Dick hummed and took a sip of his drink. It had been sitting in his hands for so long it couldn’t really be called hot anymore, or even lukewarm… but it still tasted good. “I guess you’re right,” he finally conceded, “But I still think it would be a good idea.”

Mr. Wayne only nodded thoughtfully, “I can see your point.”

Dick smiled. A real smile. The first smile since the incident that hadn’t been forced or so small you’d miss it if you didn’t have a magnifying glass handy.

And that apparently made Alfred smile too. He looked at the clock on the fireplace mantel and stood up. “I believe that it is high time we got you to sleep, Master Richard. I’ll prepare your bed while you brush your teeth.” He left the room without another word and Dick sighed as he stood to follow.

“Good night, Mr. Wayne,” he uttered softly as he passed the armchair.

“Good night, Richard,” the man replied in much the same way.

At the door Dick hesitated. “Mr. Wayne?” he lowered his eyes shyly when the man turned to look at him. He swallowed and said just loud enough for Mr. Wayne to hear, “You could call me Dick if you’d like.”

Then he continued after the butler without waiting for an answer.


	9. Not an Accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized quotations indicate the speaker is using another language.

Dick was slightly disappointed when Mr. Wayne wasn’t at breakfast the next day. Alfred explained that he’d had an especially important meeting to get to and had left extra early so he could talk to his CEO before it began.

Dick wasn’t expecting Mr. Wayne to start calling him ‘son’ or play catch in the backyard. He definitely wasn’t going to call the man ‘Dad’…

But after what had happened the night before, he’d been hoping that maybe something had changed. They’d talked; with no fake smiles, no fidgeting and looking for the quickest escape route, no stupid questions. Mr. Wayne had thought his ideas were interesting, and that had made Dick smile a real smile for the first time in too long. That had felt good.

In fact, Dick’s last thought before he fell asleep had been ‘Maybe he can help me after all’. _If only he didn’t have business meetings_ , he mused now.

With a sigh, Dick slumped back against the couch. He was sitting on the floor beside a coffee table in one of the smaller living rooms scattered about the Manor. He’d been in there for a while, working out some advanced math problems Alfred had written for him. Dick found them to be pretty simple… almost boring. But he’d been doing them as slowly as possible. He wasn’t looking forward to the giant book of poetry that was waiting for him when he finished.

Apparently he’d be attending a private school at the beginning of the new school year. Being stuck in Juvenile Hall for a month meant he had quite a bit of work to catch up on. But Alfred was confident he could get it done. He even seemed to think Dick could skip one or two grades… once he got the hang of reading and writing in English.

Dick leaned forward to rest his arms and head on the table and closed his eyes. He really didn’t want to do anything today. His back was sore from falling out of the tree; his hands were still stinging from the splinters, having to hold a pencil wasn’t helping with that; and he was fairly certain he’d caught a cold in all that rain because his throat was kind of irritated and he was feeling congested. Just thinking about those old poems was starting to give him a headache.

In short, he felt miserable.

“You look like you could use a break.” Dick jumped at the unexpected voice and turned to see who was there.

“Mr. Wayne?” He brightened in surprise, “I thought you had a meeting?”

Mr. Wayne smiled and moved into the room to sit on the couch, “I did. It ended about an hour ago and I thought I’d come home for lunch.”

Lunch? Dick frowned and looked at the fancy clock on the wall. It was, indeed, nearly noon. He’d been sitting there for that long? He had thought an hour, maybe two. Of course, it would explain why his knees were hurting so badly.

He moved them into a better position and pulled himself up onto the couch beside Mr. Wayne. The man glanced at the paper on the table, “Trouble with math?”

Dick shook his head and admitted rather sheepishly, “I didn’t want to do poetry.”

Mr. Wayne chuckled, “Yeah, I never cared for it much either. Couldn’t convince Alfred to let me read something else though.”

“Me either,” Dick sighed glumly. It wasn’t that he didn’t like reading. His parents had owned a small collection of books from the different places they’d been, which they’d kept in an old trunk. Every night they’d pick one and take turns reading it out loud, their version of a bedtime story. But the books that Alfred wanted Dick to read were so boring and long. No action, or humor, or mystery. Those were the kind of books he wanted to read. The kind he’d shared with his parents.

Mr. Wayne seemed to notice he was thinking about more than old English poems. “I wouldn’t say anything to Alfred if you skipped it today,” he offered lightly.

“Really?” Dick looked up hopefully. Mr. Wayne nodded and the boy’s whole attitude changed in an instant. Feeling relieved and much more relaxed, he grabbed the math sheet from the table.

“Finished,” he announced two minutes later, “What’s for lunch?”

“No idea,” Mr. Wayne raised an eyebrow at the worksheet. Dick was confident every question was answered correctly. “Alfred doesn’t let me near the kitchen while he’s cooking,” the man continued with a sour look.

“Why not?” Dick tilted his head in curiosity.

Mr. Wayne scratched the back of his neck and shifted a bit in his seat. Not from awkwardness, Dick realized, but from embarrassment. “Once, when Alfred caught this stomach bug… there was a, uh, an incident.”

“Incident?” Dick had a fairly good idea what he meant but wanted to be sure.

Mr. Wayne automatically repeated himself in Romani and Dick felt a surge of pride in having been right. Mr. Wayne seemed to be lost in thought though. He was staring at a tiny stain on the carpeted floor… Alfred would probably pull out the shampooer if he saw it.

“What happened?” Dick prompted when it didn’t look like the man was going to continue.

“Mmm,” Mr. Wayne was obviously debating whether or not to answer. Finally he sighed in resignation. “Let’s just say a chicken, a broken timer, a fire extinguisher, and Alfred’s favorite oven mitts were involved. I had to buy him new ones. He claims they give him a rash,” he finished and rolled his eyes.

Dick smiled a bit sadly, “My Dat almost burnt the trailer down cooking fish once. He ruined Daj’s apron... so she made him eat the fish.” He giggled a little. “His face looked really funny too.”

Mr. Wayne shook his head looking grave, “Thank God Alfred was too sick to stop me from throwing the chicken out.” This made Dick laugh for real. It wasn’t loud or long, but it took him by surprise. Just a few weeks before he had felt he’d never laugh again.

Mr. Wayne smiled but didn’t say anything. He grabbed a remote from the table and gestured to the TV. “Do you mind if I check the news?”

Dick just shook his head, thinking about the laugh. He couldn’t decide how he felt about it. On the one hand it was a good thing; it let him know he wouldn’t be hurting forever. He could get past this sadness. He _did_ want to be happy, after all. If he never smiled or laughed again he wouldn’t be Dick Grayson anymore. He’d just be an empty shell…

Was it right to laugh so soon after it happened, though? His parents had only been gone a little over a month and a half. Mostly he knew it was ridiculous to think like that. They wouldn’t have wanted him to be unhappy. But still, a small part of him felt like he was betraying their memory or something.

“… long time family employee, Alfred Pennyworth, and young ward, Richard Grayson, were attacked last night.” Dick’s head snapped up at the sound of his name. How did they know about that? Dick could see that Mr. Wayne was just as surprised as he was, so they couldn’t have heard from him. And Alfred didn’t seem like a gossiper, so it probably wasn’t him either.

“From reports we’ve heard,” the blonde woman continued, “Pennyworth and Grayson were visiting the graves of the boy’s parents when they came across two men in the process of an illegal transaction. One of the men, after firing several shots, was subdued by Pennyworth and is at this moment recovering in the hospital from a concussion. Police say there were signs that Batman intervened with the other man and saved Grayson’s life. However by the time police arrived on the scene that man had somehow removed his restraints and fled after attacking the first responding police officer.”

“What?!” Dick and Mr. Wayne exclaimed at the same time. _I guess that was the weird feeling I had_ , Dick thought. He glanced at Mr. Wayne, who was clearly agitated; but he had a strange look on his face. A look of deep concentration, like he was trying to put together a puzzle.

Dick fell back into the couch again, troubled. He didn’t see how that guy could’ve escaped; Batman had hit him awfully hard. How could he have even been awake by the time the police got there? Not that it really mattered how it had happened. The point was he’d gotten away. And the bad feeling in his stomach started growing.

Despite how close he’d been to the guy Dick had never gotten a good look at his face. But what if the man thought he had? What if he came after him? And Alfred? They had been the only witnesses besides the concussed criminal, and he probably wouldn’t talk. Alfred and Dick though… they were liabilities.

“… true that police are considering putting Grayson into protective custody?” While Dick had zoned out, the woman had kept talking. It was obviously a video from earlier that day. She was standing in front of the police building, speaking with one of the officials. Dick didn’t catch his name.

“It _has_ been considered,” the man voiced carefully, “But it’s highly likely his attacker of last night will simply go into hiding for now.”

“And what of the murder of his parents? Have you found any leads on who was behind it?”

Dick’s heart seemed to stop as soon as that word left her mouth. Murder.

It had been murder? Someone had done it on purpose? Meant for them to die? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. His parents were the nicest people in the world. They didn’t have any enemies. None that he knew about.

He shook himself before he could get lost in the questions. They could wait, but right now he needed to hear this report.

“Unfortunately, we’ve made no progress in that case,” the man sounded truly sorry, “We do have one suspect after talking with Jack Haley, the owner of the circus. A man named Tony Zucco. Mr. Haley told us that Zucco had threatened him for ‘protection’ money the day before the Grayson’s deaths. We’re still looking for Zucco, but he seems to have disappeared… it’s possible he’s fled the country.”

“Do you believe he may make an attempt on Richard Grayson’s life? Finish the job, so to speak?” the reporter asked.

“Until last night, there have been no reported attempts on Grayson’s life,” the man denied firmly, “And since we think that incident was unrelated, it doesn’t seem as though Zucco is planning anything.”

“Thank you for your…”

Dick tuned the news out again, staring at the floor. He could feel Mr. Wayne’s concerned gaze on him. He probably had assumed Dick knew about Zucco and the fact that it hadn’t been an accident. But in Juvenile Hall he’d never been told anything that wasn’t an order or an insult.

Now, to find out his parents deaths had been orchestrated…

And that wasn’t even the worst part. Dick had seen him, the man they were talking about. He’d seen him arguing with Pop Haley. He remembered thinking Zucco was just one of the people they hired in every city to run the booths. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he’d heard the word ‘money’. Dick had thought he just had a problem with the pay.

And worse still, Dick had seen him again. Tampering with the wires.

He felt tears sting his eyes. He’d seen Zucco in the act, but thought he was just making sure the wires were secure. A safety check. Those were nothing new. Nothing suspicious.

“ _It was my fault_ ,” he breathed out, barely a whisper.

“Dick?” Mr. Wayne questioned softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. Dick looked at him, his eyes haunted.

“I… I need…” he swallowed, “I’m not hungry. Can you tell Alfred I’m sorry?” Mr. Wayne nodded, understanding written across his face along with worry. Dick jumped up and ran out of the door towards his room. Tears already falling down his face.


	10. Guiltless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized quotations indicate the speaker is using another language.

Dick didn’t know for how long he sat on his bed; he was clutching Peanut to his chest, sniffling periodically, when he heard a knock on the door. It had to have been close to an hour. He’d forced himself to stop crying after ten minutes, as it had only been making it harder to breathe when he was already so congested.

The knock came again.

Dick couldn’t decide if he should answer. How could he look anyone in the eye again knowing he was the reason his parents were gone? He’d seen Zucco… seen him in the act. Known he was one of the bad ones, even from a distance. And he hadn’t said anything. In his mind that made him just as responsible as the man himself.

 _Why?_ he kept thinking, _Why didn’t I say something? I always told them when I saw something before._

If he had, maybe someone would’ve been suspicious and they might have checked the ropes again. The performance would have been cancelled, his parents wouldn’t have gotten on the trapeze, and the police would only be looking for Zucco for _attempted_ murder.

Mr. Wayne opened the door when Dick didn’t answer the second time. The boy didn’t look up as he walked across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. The man didn’t say anything at first, and Dick couldn’t help but shrink further into himself under the scrutiny.

Dick must’ve looked terrible, what with his red nose and puffy eyes. He lifted a hand to scrub self-consciously at his wet cheeks. It was like that night all over again.

“Dick?” Mr. Wayne finally spoke softly, “I’m sorry that you had to learn about the… circumstances of your parents’ death that way. I thought someone would have told you.” He frowned, “I would have if I’d known. It’s hard enough losing them, but knowing it was because of someone else… intended…”

Dick raised his eyes when Mr. Wayne’s voice trailed off. He’d been expecting pity or apologies that his parents were dead. Idiotic questions of ‘Are you alright?’ when it was obvious he wasn’t. That’s what everyone else had done… well, everyone with a conscience at least.

But Mr. Wayne seemed to know he didn’t want that. What good were empty words from people who didn’t know what he was going through? He needed someone who understood. Who could recognize he wouldn’t just bounce back from the loss of his family. He needed more time.

Dick was grateful for that at least, but he still felt horrible. Guilty.

“It was my fault,” he whispered miserably, dropping his gaze back to the bedspread. He felt like he needed to get this off of his chest or it would crush him.

Mr. Wayne was quick to shake his head with a frown of surprise, “Dick, it wasn’t-“

“I saw him!” Dick interrupted burying his head in Peanut, “I saw him do it! I didn’t… I thought he was… but then… I didn’t tell anyone, and they died!” He took a shaky breath and repeated softly, “I didn’t tell.”

Mr. Wayne had frozen at his initial outburst, but now he sighed. “Dick, you couldn’t have known what he was doing.”

“But I saw him before,” Dick’s voice was strained, he was trying so hard not to cry again. “I saw him and Pop Haley… the day he was thr-threat- _threatened._ I should’ve said something when I saw him again. He wasn’t _trustworthy.”_

“But you didn’t understand what he was saying to Pop Haley, did you?” Mr. Wayne tried to reason. Dick couldn’t disagree with that so he shook his head, hair ruffling against the stuffed animal in his lap. “Then how would you have known if he were trustworthy or not?”

“I just knew,” Dick insisted, “They would’ve listened if I told them. They would have checked the ropes and then they would still be alive. I could have saved them.”

“Dick, listen to me,” Mr. Wayne spoke firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I know what you’re going through. I went through the same thing when I was young.”

“Your parents?” Dick was quietly curious, at last peeking over Peanut’s head. Mr. Wayne nodded. “How did they die?”

“They were shot… right in front of me.” His eyes were distant as though lost in a memory, “I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger, but I blamed myself for their deaths for years.”

Dick didn’t understand, “But you never even saw him before that night, did you?”

“No,” Mr. Wayne conceded, “but there were other things that I could have done differently. At least, that’s what I told myself. They left the theatre for me. If they had decided to wait, we wouldn’t have slipped out the back entrance. We wouldn’t have gone down that alley, and then we would’ve missed the mugger completely. Maybe they wouldn’t have died.”

“But…” Dick’s eyebrows scrunched in distress, “that wasn’t your fault. It was just a… _random_?”

“Random.”

“Right. It was a random mugger.”

“It still could have been avoided,” was the man’s response.

“No,” Dick sat up straighter, getting worked up, “You didn’t know what would happen. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” Mr. Wayne agreed softly. Dick blinked in surprise, uncertain at his change in tone. “You didn’t know what was going to happen either, Dick.”

“Well… I guess… but-“

“No,” Mr. Wayne cut him off before he could finish his protest, “No one wants to believe a person would willingly do something like that. I’m sure you could tell he was dishonest, but there was no way you could have known what he was planning. It _wasn’t_ your fault. The only person responsible is Tony Zucco. Okay?”

Dick stared at a loose thread on the bedspread intently. He was trying to find something to say. He still felt responsible for what had happened to a degree. There were several things he could have done differently to save them.

But ‘what ifs’ couldn’t bring his parents back. Dick met Mr. Wayne’s eyes and nodded solemnly.

The man smiled, looking relieved, and stood up, “Good… I think Alfred probably kept lunch warm for us. Do you feel up to eating?”

Dick gently set Peanut to the side and scooted off the bed, ready to follow Mr. Wayne downstairs. He glanced up as they walked and managed a small smile. “Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”

“Of course,” Mr. Wayne rested a hand briefly on his shoulder.

They continued down the hall in silence; but Dick frowned after a minute and hesitantly asked the question that had been on his mind from the moment he had heard the news report. “Do you think they’ll catch him?”

Mr. Wayne looked down at him as they hit the stairwell. Dick wasn’t sure what his own expression was showing; whether hope or doubt or some mixture of the two. Whatever it was prompted a determined light in Mr. Wayne’s eyes. “Zucco will be caught, Dick,” he assured him with conviction, “I can promise you that.”


	11. Party Plans

Dick tugged at the collar of his shirt and tried not to fidget too much. The only other time he’d worn a suit was the day of the funeral. He knew there was a lot on his mind that day, but he thought he would’ve remembered how uncomfortable it was; then again, he hadn’t had to wear a tie for that… he didn’t know how to fix it and the social worker hadn’t cared to help. That was probably the one thing for which he’d be willing to thank her.

With a sigh, Dick slumped farther into the backseat of the limo. Right now he and Mr. Wayne were on their way to what the man called a ‘benefit’; which Dick figured was just the word rich people used to describe a party. He couldn’t say it was something he was looking forward to attending. He could already imagine what it would be like; all of the tiny foods, the expensive clothes, the men talking business, and the women gossiping. Everyone ignoring him…

It sounded completely boring.

He wished he could just stay at Wayne Manor. He’d even read Alfred’s old poetry if it would get him out of this.

But he didn’t want to seem ungrateful after all that Mr. Wayne had done for him. The man had taken him in when no one else seemed to care. Saved him from a corrupt system. Complaining about a stupid party wouldn’t show his appreciation, would it?

“I’m sorry I have to drag you to this thing,” Mr. Wayne apologized. He’d obviously noticed Dick’s discomfort; perhaps he hadn’t been hiding it as well as he thought.

“It’s okay,” Dick tried to smile, but it felt half-hearted even to him.

Mr. Wayne gave him a knowing look. “I don’t care much for these things either,” he confided, “But since Wayne Enterprises is hosting it, it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t make an appearance.”

Dick nodded sympathetically. Mr. Wayne had it worse than he did, after all. He’d actually have to talk to people, smile, and act like he wanted to be there. Whereas it was unlikely anyone would even pay attention to Dick.

Dick frowned at the thought and questioned curiously, “Why did you want me to come?”

It hadn’t occurred to him to ask before, but now that he thought about it he was puzzled. In a room full of adults who wanted to shake Mr. Wayne’s hand and talk to him about money problems, he probably wouldn’t have time for Dick either. The boy didn’t mind. He’d just find a quiet corner and sit down to wait the party out. But there had to be a reason Mr. Wayne would ask him to come.

Mr. Wayne hummed as though he’d expected this to come up sooner or later. “There have been some… rumors. You’ve been at the Manor for three weeks now and the only thing people have heard you about was that news report. They’re… starting to ask questions. Wondering why I, of all people, decided to foster you.”

“Because you saw it happen and you know what it’s like,” Dick thought that should have been obvious.

“Yes, but the public doesn’t see it like that. And not everyone thinks my motives are…” he paused, it seemed like he was looking for the right word, “honorable.”

Dick thought that Gotham really must be a messed up city if no one wanted to believe someone would take in an orphan just because they were a good person. “What do they think?” he wondered, “That you’re hurting me or something?”

“Or something,” Mr. Wayne sighed, almost sounding defeated. Dick didn’t know what he meant, but he looked pretty upset about whatever the people thought.

“They didn’t care about what happened to me _before_ you took me in,” he shrugged, hoping to make the man feel better. It must have helped a little because Mr. Wayne managed a soft smile, but then he turned his attention to the window. Something was still bothering him, but Dick didn’t know what. He decided to change the subject.

“What is the party for, anyway?”

“We wanted to help raise some money for the Police Department,” Mr. Wayne rubbed his chin, lips screwed up slightly in thought, “Though to be honest, I don’t know how many of the people there will be officers. There will probably be more of Gotham’s rich and famous trying to get some good publicity.” Dick widened his eyes pointedly and Mr. Wayne chuckled, “Like I said, Wayne Enterprises is hosting it.”

“Right,” Dick’s lips tilted upward a little, “How long will it be?”

“Three hours at the least.” Dick couldn’t stop his nose from wrinkling in distaste, prompting a quiet snort from Mr. Wayne. “But maybe we can manage to sneak out after two,” he conceded.

“Thanks,” Dick smiled.

Mr. Wayne waved a hand dismissively; he was probably relieved to have an excuse to leave early himself. “We’re here,” he announced, with a glance out the window, “You ready?” Dick wasn’t sure he was, but he nodded anyway and reached to unbuckle his seatbelt. “There’s going to be a lot of reporters and photographers on the way to the door,” Mr. Wayne warned, “Just try to ignore the questions and look straight ahead; you should be fine.”

“Okay,” Dick bit his lip uncertainly. Mr. Wayne gave him an encouraging smile and opened the door. Cameras were already flashing, with people were shouting the billionaire’s name. Dick could hear commands coming from security guards to stay behind the ropes.

And then Dick stepped out of the car…

He forced himself to do what Mr. Wayne had said and kept his eyes firmly on the door. The crowd was obviously excited by his presence, but he tried to ignore their calls for his attention. Until the questions started.

He couldn’t make out all of them, and he had no intentions of answering any of them. But he couldn’t help but hear what they were asking.

“What is it like living with Bruce Wayne?” It wasn’t the same as it had been at the circus, but it was definitely better than Juvie.

“Do you like living with him?” He liked it very much… not that it was any of their business.

“Any thoughts on the attack last week?” He thought that it had been terrifying and he wished that the man hadn’t gotten away.

“How have you been coping with the deaths of your parents?” What did ‘coping’ mean? He wasn’t familiar with that word.

“How do you feel about the fact that they were murdered?” Dick noticed his breathing had become rapid and short. Who asked something like that?

“Do you miss them?” Now his eyes were stinging. Of course he missed them. Every day. Every minute. Every time he closed his eyes to go to sleep and dreamed about the times they’d spent together. Every time those dreams morphed into the one moment that ended those times forever. Every time he saw the pictures or the poster. It seemed that there was nothing he could do or see that didn’t remind him of them.

“What do you think about the situation with Tony Zucco?”

Dick felt a surge of anger rush through him and bit the inside of his cheek just to have something to focus on. His mind was buzzing and his eyes were stinging; he couldn’t think past the ache that had suddenly gripped his heart.

That was the last question he heard before they made it through the door and Dick sighed, feeling some of the tension drain away when the voices were cut off behind them. He didn’t understand how these people could be so insensitive. All they had to do was to put themselves in his situation. He doubted they’d want someone asking them those kinds of questions.

Dick took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly through his mouth, hoping to calm his racing heart… and then looked up when he realized he was holding Mr. Wayne’s hand. He vaguely remembered grabbing it when the first question about his parents had been asked.

Dick was quick to let go, feeling his cheeks heat up as he averted his gaze and mumbled, “Sorry.”

Mr. Wayne just smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “You did good, Dick,” he praised softly, “Just hang tight and we’ll be home before you know it.”


	12. Meeting the Commissioner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized quotations indicate the speaker is using another language.

Dick had never been what you’d call ‘shy’. He was used to running around the circus grounds, amongst the crowds. Walking on his hands, cartwheeling at random, beaming at people he’d never met and would probably never see again. He’d performed in the Big Top, flying through the air with thousands of eyes on him. He’d never cared who was watching before, barely even noticed.

But as Dick walked through the lobby of the fancy hotel the benefit was being held at, he felt small. Uncomfortable with the attention for the first time in his life.

Dick glanced around at the people they passed; everyone would squint their eyes or turn up their nose, gazes criticizingly judgmental… there were a few small reassuring smiles from the more casually dressed people. He assumed they were probably the police officers. Mr. Wayne had been right, there weren’t as many of them as the ‘rich and famous’. Dick also noticed a few kids, both older and younger, in small clusters about the room. But they seemed to be purposefully avoiding eye contact with him.

Dick frowned and moved his gaze to the floor, keeping Mr. Wayne’s shoes in his line of sight. He could feel the eyes move away from his direction and almost sighed with relief. They were probably talking about him now, but as long as he couldn’t hear what they were saying he didn’t really care.

He glanced up again when he noticed Mr. Wayne pushing ahead a little faster, heading towards someone he must have spotted in the crowd. There were two men caught up in a conversation, one with a flashy turquoise blazer and the other in a much more nondescript suit. The more casual man was smiling and nodding, but Dick could tell from the way his eyes kept cutting to a table full of dessert what he would rather be doing.

Mr. Wayne had reached them now but Dick was still too far away to hear what they were saying. He noticed the flashy man looked annoyed while the other guy looked relieved. ‘Flashman’ walked away in a huff after a short exchange with Mr. Wayne and Dick had to pause to step out of his way. He thought he heard the man mutter something like ‘Stinking Wayne’.

Dick watched him leave, feeling annoyed and offended on Mr. Wayne’s behalf. He was about to turn back around when a chill shivered through him, like a cold finger dragging lightly up his neck. Dick looked around with narrowed eyes, almost expecting someone to be watching him. But his novelty must have worn off, not being right next to Mr. Wayne, for no one was paying him anymore attention that he could see.

Shaking himself and chalking it up to a strange feeling, Dick turned back towards the dessert table.

Mr. Wayne’s voice drew his attention, “Dick?” he was waving him over to meet the remaining man, who was now happily munching on what looked like an éclair. Dick glanced over his shoulder once more, still feeling a bit out of sorts, and then joined them.

“Jim,” Mr. Wayne started by addressing the other man, “I’d like you to meet Richard Grayson… I know you’ve heard of him.” ‘Jim’ nodded with an easy smile. Dick tilted his head curiously as he studied him and realized that he’d seen the man before. It was official from the TV… the one that the reporter had talked to about Tony Zucco.

“Dick,” Mr. Wayne nudged him closer with a hand on his shoulder, “This is James Gordon. He’s the Police Commissioner.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Dick greeted politely. Mr. Gordon had a warm smile and even warmer eyes, and he held his hand out for a shake like Dick was a grown up. He seemed like a good man.

“Nice to meet you too,” the Commissioner agreed. He glanced at Mr. Wayne, “Bruce hasn’t been treating you too bad, has he?”

Dick’s eyes widened and he shook his head adamantly, completely missing the teasing tone in Mr. Gordon’s voice. He didn’t want Mr. Wayne to get in trouble with the police, “No, sir. He’s really nice. He hasn’t hurt me or anything.”

Both men seemed amused by the seriousness of Dick’s response, and they shared a chuckle. “Of course he hasn’t,” Mr. Gordon eased, patting the air reassuringly, “It’s just an expression, so to speak. It’s another way of asking how you’re adjusting.”

“Oh,” Dick was relieved. Why hadn’t he just said that in the first place? Adults were so confusing sometimes. “I’m doing okay I guess. It’s just… different.”

Mr. Gordon nodded in understanding. He paused and studied Dick thoughtfully as though debating whether or not he should say anything else. Finally he asked, “And how are you after that attack last week?”

Dick shifted a bit uncomfortably and shrugged, “I’m okay.” He tilted his head curiously, “Is this what they call a… _statement_?”

Mr. Wayne interpreted at Mr. Gordon’s confused face. “Ah,” the officer nodded and shot Mr. Wayne an aggrieved look. “We did try to get a statement the day after it happened. But…”

“Let me guess,” Mr. Wayne finished, “Alfred?”

The Commissioner nodded, “Alfred.” He looked back at Dick and smiled, “But don’t worry… he told us everything you said.” He and Mr. Wayne exchanged a meaningful look before he continued, “That ‘evening tour’ line you heard could be very helpful to the investigation.”

“Really?” Dick smiled, excited that he could help in some way.

“Yeah,” Mr. Gordon assured him, “In fact, we have a suspect. We just need something to incriminate him.”

Dick wrinkled his nose and slowly sounded out, “In-crim-i-nate?”

“Prove he did it,” the commissioner elaborated.

“Oh,” Dick said again, “How long do you think that will take?”

“Mmm… hard to say. But you know, I have a feeling we’ll catch a break in this case very soon,” he offered mysteriously. The he winked at Dick, much to the boy’s confusion, and he and Mr. Wayne started talking about something called ‘politics’.

Dick tried to be still and quiet, he didn’t want to disturb them. But it didn’t take long for him to get bored. After fifteen minutes he started shifting from foot to foot and absently looking around the room.

When everything had happened… his parents’ murders, leaving the circus, Juvenile Hall; Dick had gone into a depressed state. It had been easy not to move then; what was there to do, after all?

But he’d been slowly recovering at Wayne Manor, as time went on. True, he hadn’t quite reached using furniture as gymnastic equipment activeness yet; but he was still Dick Grayson. And according to his parents, Dick Grayson was built to fly. He was their ‘little robin’, and nothing could ground him for long.

Dick remembered when he’d first started practicing with his parents on the trapeze. It had been just a few weeks before his fifth birthday. He’d been so excited, jumping and flipping all around the fairgrounds. Eagerly telling everyone he came across, ‘ _Today is the day_!’ By the time they were ready to get started he’d completely worn himself out.

But he’d still gone up, much to his parents’ amusement. Dick didn’t even care that he fell into the net every single time, he was so happy to be a part of the team. His father had had to carry him back to the trailer. Just before he’d closed his eyes, he’d heard his mother joking that sleep was the only thing that could keep him in one place for more than five seconds.

He wasn’t about to flip and cartwheel around the police benefit, but… maybe just a bit of the old, restless Dick Grayson was coming back.

With a sigh, Dick looked around for some excuse to leave Mr. Wayne and Mr. Gordon alone with their conversation. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at a small table across the room. There was a big bowl on it with some kind of drink. A girl maybe a few years older than him walked up to it and poured a cup for herself. Perfect…

“Mr. Wayne?” he interrupted cautiously.

“Yes?” Thankfully, he didn’t sound annoyed; in fact, he almost worried and his shoulders had tensed up, but Dick couldn’t guess why.

“Would you mind if I went to get a drink?” Dick pointed to the table across the room.

Mr. Wayne glanced in that direction and gave a quick jerk of a nod, “I suppose that would be alright.”

“Thank you,” Dick murmured, leaving them to their conversation.

A small line had formed when Dick made it to the punch and he fidgeted as he waited for his turn. A few of the kids kept glancing his way and whispering to each other as though he wouldn’t realize they were talking about him. Dick wished he could find a curtain to hide behind until this night was over, but he didn’t want to scare Mr. Wayne by disappearing.

Dick looked back and frowned when he couldn’t see Mr. Wayne or the Commissioner where he’d left them. He stood on his tiptoes and craned his neck a little, but someone cleared their throat and he realized it was his turn. Quickly filling his cup, Dick ducked out of the line and hurried away. He’d only taken a few steps when he was stopped…

By bumping into someone’s legs. The drink surged over the rim, splattering all over the floor and the man’s pants legs.

“Oh!” Dick exhaled in surprise and dismay, “I’m so sorry. I got you all wet.”

“No problem, kid,” the man responded, voice low and dreadfully familiar.

Dick froze, his heartbeat fierce against his chest, and his breathing got a little faster. He swallowed and slowly looked up. Standing there in a cheap suit was a young man, maybe in his mid-twenties. Sandy hair, a muscular build, and cold brown eyes. Dick had never seen him before… but he knew who it was in an instant.

The man who’d tried to kill him at the cemetery smiled in an extremely snake-like way. “It’s no problem at all,” he repeated, “Anymore…”


	13. How to Crash a Benefit Without Even Trying

Dick stood, frozen in place and too shocked to move for a moment. Of all of the places to try and get at him, he would think that a ‘police benefit’ would’ve been at the bottom of the list. There were so many witnesses; some of which were probably carrying concealed weapons.

The man reaching for his arm startled Dick out of his stupor enough to act. He threw the cup at the man’s face, knowing it was hardly a distraction, but it was all he had. Then he darted away in the direction he’d last seen Mr. Wayne.

“Mr. Wayne!” he hollered, definitely drawing some attention, “Mr. Wayne! H-!”

The man had apparently caught up to him, because Dick was lifted off of the ground in an instant. His arms were pinned to his side and he kicked his feet out as he tried to get away. Like that night in the cemetery, the man clamped his hand down on the boy’s mouth until only incoherent mumbles could be heard.

“Sorry about that,” the man feigned embarrassment, “My nephew has a report on Bruce Wayne due Monday. I thought I told you that Mr. Wayne is an extremely busy man,” he pretended to scold Dick; “You’ll have to finish without bugging him.”

Dick shook his head, trying to free his mouth. His eyes roamed wildly searching for someone to help him. Preferably one of the cops…

But there didn’t seem to be any in sight. The rich people had already turned back to their conversations in disinterest. How did none of them recognize him as Richard Grayson? They’d all been staring at him when he first came in!

The man moved to the edge of the crowd and walked along the wall, easily avoiding the other guests. Dick was yelling from behind the constraining hand and resisting as much as he could to attract attention, but people barely spared them a glance. And the one’s that did would turn away as soon as the man called out his lame excuse. It seemed that all of the police officers had just vanished.

Maybe it was because he knew what was happening, but Dick thought it should’ve been obvious to these people that they were witnessing a kidnapping! For crying out loud, what kind of ‘uncle’ would gag their ‘nephew’ and proceed to drag him to a back exit?!

A back exit that was getting closer…

Dick could guess that it led to a dark alley. If the man had been planning this, and Dick had a feeling the criminal’s gaze had been what was disturbing him earlier, then odds were he had a car waiting. If they made it to the door the man could slip away without any trouble. Mr. Wayne might think he had just found a chair to sit in until the party ended. No one would know he was missing for two whole hours… he wouldn’t even have twenty minutes if they made it out of that door. And he couldn’t count on Batman to come crashing in to save him this time.

It looked like he would have to save himself.

 _Like the trapeze_ , Dick tried to calm himself with the thought. If you didn’t have a calm head and precise timing you were going to fall into the net. He needed to focus. He was good at coming up with routines off the top of his head. This couldn’t be much different when it came down to it. _Just formulate a plan… and execute._

They were about twenty feet from the door. That didn’t give him a lot of time; he scanned the room to see what he had to work with. There wasn’t much within reach, but he quickly ran different scenarios through his mind trying to figure out which one would help him out of the situation. He came to the conclusion that he probably couldn’t wriggle out of the man’s hold, but if he could just free one arm…

Ten feet away and he saw his chance. There was a woman holding a glass of champagne trying to scoot by two elderly gentleman at the edge of the crowd. That brought her just within range of Dick’s feet .

Dick twisted his body and kicked out as though to hit her. His kidnapper quickly turned away; he probably didn’t want to waste time dealing with an irritated party guest. Luckily, that was the move Dick had needed him to make.

Dick braced his feet firmly on the wall and pushed off with all of his might. He may have been a scrawny kid, but he’d been propelling himself from every kind of surface there was since he was three and there was no question that the force of the action could throw the man off balance.

The criminal stumbled backwards, right into the woman he’d been moving to avoid. Her champagne spilled and she shrieked indignantly. “You idiot!” she screamed shrilly, “Do you know how much this dress cost me?!”

“I am so sorry…” The man sounded truly flustered as he tried to apologize and calm the woman down. In his moment of distraction, the arm holding Dick to his chest had loosened slightly, and Dick seized his chance.

He squirmed a bit, eyebrows furrowed in determination and managed to worm one of his arms free. Without hesitation, he grabbed the man’s hand and ripped it away from his mouth.

“Bruce!” he cried desperately, cutting off the woman’s rant about dry cleaning. His voice probably carried clear across the room, “Bruce, help!”

Every eye in the room turned to him in surprise. Even his kidnapper appeared too shocked to shut him up as he continued to call for help.

The exit door was thrown open from the outside and two of the cops that had gone missing from the party came in with guns aimed in their direction. The rich people started parting as other officers were hurrying forward. Then the Commissioner entered from the left, pushing people out of the way, and following closely behind was…

“Bruce!” Dick breathed again trying to pull his other arm free.

The kidnapper’s eyes roved around, taking in how clearly trapped he was, before scowling in anger. He pulled out a knife, like the one he’d used before and tightened his grip on Dick as he backed up to the wall.

“Let the boy go and drop the weapon!” Commissioner Gordon barked.

“And why should I do that?” the question poured shakily out of his mouth, betraying his nerves.

“Because,” Bruce was the one to step forward, a threatening note in his voice, “there are about fifteen guns trained on you at this moment, all possible exits are covered… and if you do _anything_ to hurt that boy, there is absolutely nothing to stop these officers from dropping you before you have time to blink.”

…

The man lowered the knife and let his hostage drop to the floor. Dick quickly dashed to safety behind Bruce and the Commissioner and put a hand on his chest, in an attempt to calm his racing heart.

While the two officers by the door leapt forward to handcuff the criminal, Bruce glanced at the Commissioner who gave him a small nod. Placing a hand on the Dick’s shoulder, Bruce started to gently lead him out of the room and away from the arrest unfolding behind them.

“Why don’t we go somewhere quieter?” he suggested softly, “I think I should explain a few things.”


	14. Explanations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized quotations indicate the speaker is using another language.

Dick stared at the swirling designs on the carpet of the hotel’s office. He was sitting in one of the plush visitor’s chairs, kicking his legs back and forth. Bruce was on the other side of the room getting a cup of water from the cooler him, although Dick suspected the man was doing it more as a way to buy himself time to put the things he needed to explain into words.

There were a few things that didn’t really add up about the whole situation, now that Dick thought about how the night had unfolded. It had started in the car, probably, when he’d been talking to Bruce about what people thought of them; Bruce had seemed upset about something else after their discussion.

Then there had been all of the strange looks Bruce and Mr. Gordon exchanged between them; and Dick wasn’t sure why the Commissioner had winked at him, earlier. Plus, politics struck Dick as one of those conversations no one was particularly interested in but talked about to pass the time; like the weather or what one had had for lunch that day. Things you talked about with an acquaintance, not a good friend.

And it was obvious, to Dick at least, that Mr. Gordon and Bruce were close. Shouldn’t they have been talking about something more personal? Their jobs, families? What kind of things had happened in their lives since the last time they’d seen each other?

Dick probably would’ve found a conversation like that more interesting and stayed with them to listen. It was almost like they were _trying_ to get him to wander off in his boredom. They had purposely chosen a topic he would have no interest in so he would get restless and leave. _But why?_

Then, of course, there was that moment when the man had grabbed Dick and he realized all of the police officers had mysteriously disappeared.

Dick slumped back into his chair with a huff, frustrated. He felt like he had all of the pieces of the puzzle that he needed… but he didn’t know how they fit together.

“Dick?” Dick startled when Bruce finally left the water cooler, offering him a cup.

“Thank you,” Dick accepted it gratefully. He hadn’t realized how dry his mouth was until he took the first sip and in a matter of seconds had drained the cup dry. He supposed screaming could have that effect.

Bruce pulled another chair nearer to Dick’s and joined him in sitting down. “Are you alright?”

Dick looked down, picking at the rim of the empty paper cup, “I’m alright now, I guess.” His emotions had been pretty jumbled when the man had first grabbed him, but he recalled with perfect clarity the extreme irritation he’d felt that no one seemed to notice his predicament, and determination to _make_ someone notice. Now that he was out of danger…

Dick didn’t want to admit how scared he’d been in that moment, a fear that was still lingering. Only now it wasn’t fear of the man himself, but rather of what could have happened if he’d managed to make it through that exit door without anyone stopping him. Dick’s mother had always said he had a wild imagination. He couldn’t help the small shudder as it began to run away with him now.

“So…” Dick shifted, hoping to distract himself, “what happened out there?”

Bruce’s lips twisted into a grimace of sorts as he gazed at a clock ticking on the wall, they’d nearly reached the promised two hours.

At last, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Do you remember the day after it happened?” he started, “How the story was released to the press? And we didn’t know how they found out?” Dick nodded, curious about how that was connected to what happened tonight.

“Well,” Bruce continued, “Commissioner Gordon was the one that told them.”

That was a surprise and Dick frowned, “Why?”

Bruce clasped his hands together and sighed. “The Commissioner had a suspicion about the man who attacked you. A suspicion he confirmed after hearing what you told us about the conversation you overheard. You see, he didn’t understand how the man had gotten out of Batman’s handcuffs… that’s something that has never happened before.”

“Okay,” Dick was sure his confusion was evident on his face, “So this guy did somehow. What does that have to do with anything?”

“But that _is_ the point,” Bruce insisted, “No one, not even this man, has ever freed themselves from Batman’s cuffs.” This was doing nothing to clear it up for the boy. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped when he saw Bruce’s face; it looked like he wanted Dick to piece it together for himself.

Dick grumbled under his breath, a little impatient, but complied. Okay, so no person had ever freed themselves from the cuffs. So the man would have needed help? Unlikely considering his ‘help’ was busy being knocked on his rear by an old man. Batman certainly wouldn’t have gone back to free him. And Dick had cleared out of there as soon as he got his feet underneath him. Who did that leave?

Only the police officer that had been attacked. Had he taken off the restraints to use his own handcuffs? Dick shook his head. That would’ve been pointless and stupid. Unless…

His eyes widened in realization, “He was the officer that was ‘attacked’?”

Bruce gave him a small smile, looking impressed, and Dick felt pride flutter in his chest. “When the other policemen reached him, he claimed to have been the first responder. That the man responsible had taken him by surprise, knocked him out, and cuffed him. All they had to go off of was his word. You were the only real witness.”

Dick’s eyes narrowed as he considered this information, “I understand that… but what does it have to do with leasing the story?”

“ _Re_ leasing,” Bruce corrected, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “After Commissioner Gordon heard about the ‘evening tour’ comment, he knew your attacker was a policeman,” he must’ve seen the question coming before Dick could even open his mouth, “A tour is another word for when officers patrol the streets. I called the Commissioner right after I heard the story. He’d released it hoping to… set a trap of sorts. So we set up this benefit-“

“And you asked me to come,” Dick realized, starting to see the picture. “The man thought I saw his face. And he knew that the police hadn’t spoken to me yet?”

Bruce nodded in confirmation, “The Commissioner spread a rumor that you had gotten a good look at the man, that you could give a description to a sketch artist. He said that you’d caught a mild case of pneumonia from the rain, but you’d be well enough to come to the benefit. The next day they would talk to you about this case and then put you into Witness Protection.”

“Witness Protection?” Dick was surprised, “Wouldn’t that be s-spicious?”

“Suspicious,” Bruce replied automatically. He wasn’t amused this time, and he rubbed his chin, looking uncomfortable, “There was another rumor started. One that said you’d been threatened…” His voice trailed off, but Bruce didn’t need to say the name for the boy to know who the ‘threat’ had supposedly come from.

“So, he had to get to me tonight,” Dick chose to ignore the reference to his parents’ murderer, “Or he thought he’d be caught.” Another nod from Bruce, “And all of the cops left to make sure he couldn’t get out any of the doors. And you and Mr. Gordon talked about ‘politics’ because you knew I would get bored. And you needed it to look like I was alone. I was… _bait_?” Dick finished with a curious tilt of his head.

Bruce winced a guilty expression stealing over his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain any of it to you. It _was_ the Commissioner’s idea… but I still should’ve said something.”

“Why?” Dick inquired innocently.

The question seemed to startle Bruce, “You aren’t upset about being used as bait?”

“Of course not,” Dick responded, feeling like it was a pretty silly question. “It wouldn’t have worked if you told me,” he explained, “I would’ve known what was going to happen. I wouldn’t have been as surprised to see him there… he could’ve figured it out.”

Bruce looked uncertain.

“Besides,” Dick reassured him, “I know you were there the whole time now. You wouldn’t have let anything happen to me.” Then his eyes lit up with a glimmer of excitement that he hadn’t felt in almost two months, “ _And_ I helped catch a criminal.”

Bruce couldn’t hold back a chuckle at his enthusiasm. “We couldn’t have done it without you, Dick,” he promised as he stood. Dick smiled, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Why don’t we skip out on the rest of this party and head home?” the man suggested.

Dick jumped out of his chair, relieved the night was over. As he followed Bruce through the hall to a side exit he frowned thoughtfully. “Bruce?” he asked after a minute.

“Yes?”

“Doesn’t ‘released’ mean to let something go…?”

“More or less,” Bruce spoke slowly with an eyebrow raised.

“So…” Dick’s forehead furrowed in concentration, “Does lease mean to keep something then?”


	15. Seeking Comfort...

When Dick opened his eyes, he was very confused.

He remembered making it back to Wayne Manor with Bruce and finding Alfred in the main living room. Dick had been surprised to see him sitting on the couch, reading a book; not that it was shocking that the older man liked to read, it was just that Dick had never seen him do anything outside of work before.

Alfred had seemed surprised to see them as well. He probably hadn’t expected them back so early… maybe he would’ve been cleaning if there’d been more warning.

Alfred had asked about their time at the benefit; and, of course, Dick being in the hyper stage of exhaustion had quickly told the butler everything in vividly exaggerated detail. It had turned into a jumbled mess of English and Romani words in his excitement, no doubt quite difficult to decipher. Not to mention the various times that Dick would interrupt his own story to ask about certain words and why they were said the way they were.

But Alfred finally grasped the general idea. The man from the cemetery was a ‘dirty cop’, as Dick had heard someone describe, who’d tried to kidnap him with the intent to kill. Dick had semi-freed himself, the police had come in, the man was taken to jail… and the whole thing had been a trap rigged by Bruce and Commissioner Gordon.

Unfortunately for Bruce, Alfred apparently hadn’t been in on the plan. He’d stared at the billionaire the whole time with a glare that was both cross and disapproving. It seemed to say, ‘You may be an adult now, but I can still remember how to give a good, old-fashioned, butt whooping’. Bruce had wisely avoided Alfred’s gaze and kept his mouth shut.

By the time Dick had finished the story, he was suppressing yawns and struggling to keep his eyes open. He hadn’t noticed Alfred’s mood at the time, or the irritated tone in his voice when he’d politely ordered Dick to brush his teeth, get in his pajamas, and go straight to bed.

The excitement had drained Dick so completely that he almost had to drag himself through the preparations for bed. In fact, the last thing he remembered had been pulling the covers up to his ears and turning off the lamp. Then…

He frowned as he took in his surroundings.

Dick wasn’t in his bed or his bedroom; he didn’t think he was in the Manor anymore either. He was lying flat on his back on a carpeted floor decorated with familiar swirls. The hotel where they had held the benefit!

But how had he ended up here? Dick thought for a moment that he’d fallen asleep at the party and imagined _everything_ ; until he noticed how dark the room was… and empty. There was no one in the room except for him. No rich people, no cops, no hotel employees, or janitors cleaning up. All around there was nothing but an unnerving silence.

Dick carefully got to his feet and looked down to see that he was still wearing his pajamas. His brow wrinkled in consternation; he couldn’t have slept-walked so great a distance. Not only would his legs have been aching something fierce if that were the case, but the hotel was nearly an hour away by car. Surely _somebody_ would have noticed a bare-foot kid walking around Gotham at night.

So had someone brought him here?

Dick looked around the shadowy room and cautiously whispered, “Bruce? Alfred?” He didn’t see why they would bring him here. It seemed crazy that they would, but he really hoped it _was_ them. If not, then…

Dick wrapped his arms around his body as though to protect himself and called again. “Hello? … Is someone else here?” For a long time there was no answer. Dick could feel his heart rate quicken in apprehension. He’d never been a big fan of the dark, especially when he was alone.

He’d had a bad experience at the circus when he was six. Dick had accidentally locked himself inside the trunk of the clown car where it had pitch black and crowded with all kinds of raggedy props. He’d been trapped for nearly five hours and more than once he’d felt things crawling up his legs or back… the clowns were never too concerned with cleanliness.

Dick couldn’t help but shudder at the memory and once again looked around, hoping to see an exit. A red light glowing faintly to his left drew his gaze to where the door stood, slightly ajar. He walked toward it as quickly as possible without running, relief coursing through him; but just as reached it, the door slammed shut making Dick jump in surprise. The exit sign flickered and died.

Dick’s heart was really racing now. He tried the handle only to find that it wouldn’t budge.

Then a low, threatening chuckle began to echo throughout the room.

Dick’s breath stuttered in his throat before turning rapid and desperate as he tried to force the door open once again. It rattled and shook in its frame but refused to release for him. Footsteps were approaching from behind and Dick turned and pressed his back to the door; in addition to being locked in, it looked like he had managed to get himself cornered.

A figure stood in the shadows a few feet in front of him, features unclear. It laughed again, a male voice for sure, both chilling and malicious. _And_ , Dick thought with a hint of surprise, _somewhat familiar_. “Well, well, well,” the man said in mock cheerfulness, “Look at what we have here. Last of the Flying Grayson’s.” He paused and Dick felt like the man was studying him. “Rich little snot now, aren’t you?”

Dick wasn’t sure if or how he should answer, he couldn’t seem to find his voice despite all the questions he wanted to ask. _Who are you? Why did you bring me here? What did you do to Bruce and Alfred? What do you want with me?_

“Doesn’t matter how loaded you are, though,” the man continued when Dick didn’t respond, “That’s not why you’re here.”

Dick swallowed the lump in his throat, “W-why am I here?”

The man paused for a long moment, as though trying to build suspense; Dick got the feeling he was smirking. “Unfinished business,” he at last stepped into view.

For a moment Dick thought that his heart had stopped beating. He could feel his body trembling with emotion, a mixture of shock, terror, and anger. “Zucco.” It was barely a whisper but somehow the man heard it and broke into a horrible, oily smile.

“So you do remember me,” he took another step toward the boy.

“You killed my parents!” Dick tried to sound defiant but his voice was shaky and his eyes were stinging.

“No point in denying it,” Zucco sounded amused, “You saw me do it. Isn’t that right?” Dick’s chest constricted with guilt and he squeezed his eyes shut. In the back of his mind he could hear Bruce telling him it wasn’t his fault; but those words were quiet compared to all the voices saying it _was_ his fault.

“Wasn’t your fault, brat,” Zucco surprisingly absolved him, “Should’ve gone with poison or something. You were supposed to die with them. The rope just snapped too soon…” the murderer shrugged, “Oh well, doesn’t matter. You’re here now; and I intend to finish what I started.”

Before Dick could even react, Zucco had grabbed him by the arms and was yanking him across the room to the elevator. The second time in less than 24 hours he was seemingly being dragged to his death. Only this time there was nothing covering his mouth, because apparently Zucco didn’t care how much Dick kicked and screamed for help. The man’s hands were like iron bands, latched onto Dick’s wrists, pinning them behind his back as he used his elbow to hit the button.

“No!” Dick was yelling as he tried in vain to pull away, “Please! Bruce! Help!” The doors opened and he struggled harder when he realized they were on the roof.

A strong wind blew his hair in every direction. Goosebumps ran up and down his arms as it chilled him to the bone. The concrete roof was rough against his feet as Zucco pulled him towards the edge of the roof, dread pulling like a lead weight in his stomach.

“No! Stop! Please, stop!” Dick begged, tears spilling from his eyes. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to fall like they did.

Zucco smirked and forced Dick onto the ledge. “Think of it this way,” he said, an amused glint in his eyes, “You get to be just like your parents. A dream come true!”

Without another word, Zucco pushed him over the edge… a fifteen story drop.

* * *

Dick woke up screaming, feeling like he was falling. His breath came out in short gasps, leaving him light-headed and ill. His heart seemed to be trying to beat right out of his chest as tears streamed down his cheeks.

He looked around the bedroom hoping it could somehow reassure him that it had all been a dream. He was still here; he was still alive.

But all he found was a dark and empty room, overcome with shadows. Panic rose at the persistent thought that they could be hiding anything. Zucco could be waiting for him inside of them, just out of sight… waiting to throw him off the balcony.

Dick clutched Peanut to his chest, but the animal did nothing to ease his irrational fears. He needed a person. He needed someone to comfort him… He needed Bruce.

The shadows seemed to move and Dick threw off his covers, running out of the room as though Tony Zucco really was chasing after him. He found himself in front of Bruce's room in no time at all. It was all he could do to keep himself from just throwing open the door; but he forced himself to stop and take a breath, shaky though it may have been, and then he knocked.

When no answer came after the third time knocking, Dick started to become anxious again. He bit his lip, hesitant to overstep, but cautiously eased the door open. "Bruce?" his voice came out so small it might’ve been lost if the night hadn’t been so quiet around him.

There was no answer, though. Not even the rustling sound of sheets. Dick pushed the door a little wider and squinted at the bed to find that it was empty.

That meant Bruce was still awake. At least Dick wouldn't have disturbed his sleep. But where was he?

Dick turned around and glanced up and down the hallway. He didn't know what to do; he had a feeling Bruce would be in the little study he shut himself up in most evenings, but Dick was nervous about going in there without permission. Bruce must've had a reason for keeping it locked behind him.

Then again, Dick didn't know where to find Alfred's room; or if it was even on this floor. The butler was probably sleeping anyway, and Dick didn't want to be a nuisance. But he knew he couldn't possibly go back to sleep now. He couldn't handle being alone after that dream; and if Bruce was already awake...

Dick clutched Peanut tighter and made his way to the study, hoping Bruce wouldn't be too upset.

When he reached the door he frowned because there was no light shining from underneath. How could Bruce see to do his paperwork? Unless he was on his computer? Dick flinched and cast his eyes upward as a creaking noise sounded above his head. He tried to tell himself that it was just a draft, but he was too freaked out to believe it was anything but Tony Zucco coming to 'finish' him off. He knocked on the door and waited.

Just like with Bruce's bedroom, however, there was no reply from the study.

 _No_ , Dick refused, shaking his head, _he's here. Where else would he be?_

A scratching sound came from the window a few feet to his right... just a tree branch, surely. Dick tried the knob and didn't know if he was more shocked or relieved when he discovered it was unlocked.

He quickly opened the door and went inside, closing it behind him. The study wasn't anything special. There were a couple of bookcases, a small lounge area, a desk, a fireplace, and a large grandfather clock... but no sign of Bruce.

Dick had been so sure he'd be here. How was he supposed to find Bruce now? Wayne Manor was huge; he could get lost for days if he went searching for the man.

Dick's heart dropped at the thought of going back to his room. He would probably end up under his bed, arms curled around his legs, for the rest of the night just waiting for morning. He didn't want to do that. But what other choice did he have?

Dejectedly, he turned to leave...

And then the grandfather clock started moving.

Dick's eyes widened and he looked around the room for a place to hide. As the clock opened outwards, he ran across the space and crawled under the desk; it seemed not a moment too soon.

Someone stepped out of the opening, and a faint sound of rattling metal came with them. Dick held his breath as something was set on the desk and the figure turned back to close the clock. There was a small thump and a clicking sound, then the person grabbed the item from the desk and swiftly left the room.

Dick let a sigh escape his mouth and peeked around the edge of his hiding spot, where thankfully there was no one in sight.

He glanced at the door for a moment and then decided it wouldn’t hurt to check out the clock. How did it open? Did it have to be set to a certain time? Was there a hidden lever or something?

Dick crawled out from under the desk and scurried over. He held his chin as he examined the clock up close before running a hand along the smooth wood. The time seemed to be correct, but something was slightly off about it. Dick tilted his head as he watched the hand that counted the seconds tick... tick… tick…

That was it! The ticking of the hand wasn't right! It didn't match up with the swinging of the pendulum in the glass case below the face. It wasn't a huge difference, but it was enough to be noticeable. Maybe the trigger to open the secret door was the pendulum.

Dick jimmied the small glass door and reached inside; his hand hesitated just shy of the piece of swinging gold. What if he was wrong and he broke the clock? He could get into a lot of trouble.

Dick’s lips twisted in determination and he pulled the pendulum anyway.

There was a click and he backed up as the clock swung outward, revealing a flat metal platform. An elevator. Dick looked at the door to the study once more. He could walk away now, after all, he had no idea what he could be getting himself into. He should probably close the clock now and avoid any trouble he might find.

But he was just too curious. If he didn't find out what was under this clock he knew it would drive him crazy... maybe for years to come. He had to go.

Dick took a deep breath and stepped through the wall, the clock closed with a soft click, and the elevator started its descent into the unknown.


	16. ...Discovering Secrets

Dick didn’t really know what he was expecting to find once the elevator reached its destination. Maybe one of those fancy cellars where people kept expensive dusty bottles that they never drank. Or it could’ve led to some kind of vault, Bruce was a billionaire after all; he might like to keep money in the Manor for emergencies. The possibilities were endless really…

On the way down, Dick felt his heart beat a little faster with apprehension. He hadn’t considered the thought that someone else might be waiting at the bottom. He’d already gotten into enough trouble these past few weeks just for hearing something he shouldn’t have… what if he got caught for seeing something Bruce didn’t want him to see? There were no visible buttons on the elevator. If he hopped back on right away, would it take him back to the study?

Well, he decided as the floor bounced to indicate it had stopped, it was too late to consider the consequences now. He’d just have to improvise if worse came to worse.

Dick took a deep breath and stepped out onto a metal surface, strikingly cold against his bare feet. But the temperature barely registered when he saw where he was. He felt his eyes widen and his mouth dropped open in shock, this was definitely not a cellar for dusty bottles.

Dick was in a cave so enormous he couldn’t even see where it ended.

He felt like he’d entered a completely different world. Was he underneath Wayne Manor? If so it was a miracle the mansion hadn’t fallen through the ground ages ago. The cave would’ve made Pop Haley’s Big Top look like a wigwam, were it set up inside. Dick couldn’t tell how high the ceiling went because it was covered in shadows, naturally formed holes, and a few steel support beams. They must have been installed as a precaution to prevent a cave-in.

That seemed like a smart idea; it would probably take months to clear out any collapsed rubble. Not to mention the damage it would do to the contents of the cave...

It was then that Dick became aware of the strange fluttering, screeching noises that echoed through the vast space. He frowned and tilted his head slightly to listen. It was hard to pinpoint the sounds exactly. It sounded like an animal of some sort.

No. A _lot_ of animals, flying around in clusters.

Dick took a step, head tilted upward, and squinted. He could just make out the vague outlines of the creatures as they hung from the ceiling or moved to the opposite end of the cave, maybe the exit.

Dick had never seen one before, at least not a real one; but he was positive they were bats.

Normally Dick would have been fascinated watching them. He probably would have been trying to figure out some way to get up there so he could study one more closely. He’d always had a special interest in animals that could fly; he supposed it came from his parents’ calling him their ‘little robin’. He’d always been naturally curious about how they made it work.

But at the moment Dick studied them only as long as it took to identify what they were. Most of his attention was being drawn to the cave’s more _unnatural_ features.

There were numerous metal catwalks and a few sets of stairs; one seemed to lead to a lower section of the cave. Dick could just make out a bulky motorcycle and what looked like the wing of a small plane. Worktables were bunched together in another area, covered with projects that still seemed to be under construction. There was also one of those boards where people usually hang tools set up beside a glass case with a bare mannequin inside; but it was sleeker in design and the tools were like nothing he’d ever seen.

Then there was the dinosaur. It was set to the side with a bunch of other strange, seemingly out of place, objects. Big and small, mechanical, or organic; everyday household items that appeared to have been modified, enlarged, or stuck together like one of those modern art sculptures.

Dick had thought that the bearded lady’s collection of scissors and razors was weird; after all, she never used them so what was the purpose? Then there was Grout, one of the clowns; he had collected ‘nose-themed art’ for as long as Dick could remember. And who could forget Ajax, the strongman’s, collection of unique dried and pressed flowers? Dick had accidentally knocked over the man’s personal scrapbook where he kept them all once.

But this… this was by far the craziest collection he’d ever seen.

It looked like there were other rooms throughout the cave; but all of the doors were closed and Dick doubted he had time to do that much snooping before he was missed.

Oddly enough, the last thing to draw his attention was without a doubt the _biggest_ thing in the room.

Dick had only seen two computers in his lifetime as being raised in the circus, he spent most of his time outside, traveling, or practicing routines; but he had played a few games of virtual chess on Pop Haley’s laptop when everyone else was too busy and he was bored. Pop mostly used the computer to keep records and show schedules, and not much else. And then there was the computer that Bruce used to check on his company when he was at home.

The computer in front of him, though…

It reminded Dick of the screen at the movie theatre he and his dad had gone to last Father’s day, that’s how big it was. In fact, that’s what Dick might’ve thought it was at first glance. But then he saw a tall, leather chair set up in front of a keyboard like computers used that almost looked like it was glowing.

Dick took a few cautious steps forward and wondered if maybe he was still dreaming. It didn’t seem possible for all of this to be under Wayne Manor. How long had it taken to set everything up? And what was it for anyway?

 _Only way to find out is to look around_ , Dick reasoned logically. But where could he possibly start?

Dick looked around again, hands on his hips as he considered, and decided to start with the worktables; they were the easiest to get to from where he was standing. As he approached them he saw that blueprints, tools, and semi-built devices covered each of them in a jumbled mess. There was hardly any clear space available; and though it looked like everything had just been thrown aside to work on with spare time, Dick was hesitant to touch anything. He’d found out the hard way that just because something looked disorganized, didn’t necessarily mean it was.

Three years before, while his parents were discussing a list of new routines with Pop Haley, he had gone off looking for something interesting to do and had come across Maxim, the knife thrower’s practice area. The man had left the target set up and his equipment piled on a table, while he was nowhere in sight. Dick had always thought knife throwing would be a cool talent to learn; though, unfortunately, his mother had disagreed. But in that moment he realized that no one was there to stop him, so he had done what anyone in his position would have.

Out of the ten knives he threw, he only hit the target twice. It was a little disappointing… Maxim made it look so easy.

He’d been about to throw another one when he’d heard Maxim heading in his direction, whistling a happy tune. Dick had basically scrambled to get the knives back to the table and hid behind the target; he’d thought for sure he would be in the clear.

Until he came to realize that Maxim’s messy pile was completely organized in the knife thrower’s eyes. Dick was caught red-handed, and Maxim hadn’t been too happy. Dick could still remember the scolding he’d received… and that horrible moment when Maxim had threatened to tell his parents. He would’ve been grounded from performing for a week. And so soon after starting. It had made him sad just thinking about it; which turned out to be a good thing in the end.

As soon as Maxim saw Dick’s miserable expression and watery blue eyes, he had known it was no good staying mad. It wasn’t often that Dick was sad and he hardly ever cried. So when he did, it was like everyone was feeling what he was; in this case, that was absolutely miserable.

Maxim had forgiven him, in hopes of staving off tears, and promised to teach him the art of knife-throwing… never to be mentioned in front of Mary Grayson. Dick was fairly certain she’d figured it out on her own anyway.

With a dazed blink, Dick pulled himself out of the memory and turned his attention back to the worktable. He decided against touching the projects when he noticed the complicated wiring and the lingering smell of smoke. There was no point in frying himself.

He did, however, take a peek at one of the blueprints. And a peek was all it was, considering he had to stand on his tiptoes just to see a hint of the printed design. It looked like a diagram for a small circular disk. Judging from the measurements listed on the side, it was supposed to small enough to fit inside the palm of someone’s hand… about the size of a dollar coin. It looked like a pretty complicated piece of technology, actually; especially since it looked like it was designed to explode. Whoever was working on this device would have to reproduce a lot of them, if the quantity number was correct. And that was after they got it right in the first place.

Dick lowered his heels back to the floor and decided to move on. The mannequin in the glass case caught his eye and he ran over to get a closer look. It was definitely for an adult, a man judging by the shape. But there was nothing to indicate the kind of outfit it had held, so Dick turned towards the tool board beside it and frowned.

When it was right in front him, Dick realized that they weren’t exactly tools in the traditional sense. There were no hammers, or screwdrivers, or nail guns.

What it held were weapons.

But they didn’t look like traditional _weapons_ either. There was gun, but it had strange hook things on the end of it; there were grenades, but they were too small to cause a big explosion and were activated by pushing a button rather than pulling a pin. And there were knives, but…

Dick’s eyes widened in recognition and he carefully lifted one of the knives from its peg. He flipped it over in his hands, examining it in wonder. It was definitely strange, long and curved into the shape of an awfully specific animal. A bat.

There was only one person who could possibly have a knife like this... unless Bruce was an obsessive fan. And Dick didn’t think that was the case; so that could only mean that Bruce was…

The loud roar of an engine filled the cave and Dick’s head shot up as two bright lights cut through the semi-darkness, getting closer to the parking area.

Dick stuck the knife back on its peg and quickly scanned the room in a panic, looking for a place to hide. Anyone would be able to see him under the worktables. The elevator was too far away to get to without being seen. The mannequin case was see-through. That just left the bizarre collection of items he’d been flabbergasted by earlier.

Dick ran over on light feet and darted behind a giant penny just as the noise of the engine shut off. He heard a door opening and closing, swift footsteps, and a humming sound that could have been the computer starting up.

Dick pressed his back against the penny and tried not to breathe too loud. How was he supposed to get out of here? He couldn’t sneak out with how large and open the area was between the penny and the door. He had nothing to create a distraction with, either; and he had just noticed the cool draft that had probably been breezing through the cave since he got there. That added with the cold floor, his bare feet, and the sweat still on his face from his nightmare, Dick was starting to shiver.

He had no idea how long Bruce would be on the computer, maybe it would be hours. The longer Dick sat there, the harder it would be to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Still no sign of him, Alfred,” Dick jumped slightly when Bruce spoke. He hadn’t heard the elevator, but obviously the older gentleman had joined Bruce at the computer. “But I may have found a clue. He has two brothers. One of them is in Gotham. Tomorrow I’ll pay him a visit… see what he knows.”

“Sir,” Alfred didn’t seem to have heard a word Bruce said. “I think you should see this.”

“What?” There was a rustling sound, probably the cape, as Bruce turned. “Where did you find that?” he asked after a moment, sounding confused.

“Under your desk in the study,” was Alfred’s prompt reply.

There was a longer pause now. “And he’s-“

“Not in his room, Master Bruce.”

Dick froze when he realized they were talking about him. Alfred must have found Peanut and went to make sure Dick was still asleep; the boy could’ve smacked himself for forgetting the elephant in his curiosity. He almost groaned, but he didn’t want to give away his position. Not that it probably made any difference considering who he was trying to hide from.

“You’re sure?” Alfred didn’t say anything but Dick thought he probably nodded, because after a moment Bruce sighed. “Dick?” he called to the room at large.

Dick hesitated. They knew he was there, and he knew they would find him if he didn’t go out there… but he was afraid that they’d be mad at him.

“Dick,” Bruce entreated again, “please come out. You aren’t in trouble, I promise.”

Dick took a deep breath and slowly climbed to his feet. All he could think about as he quietly stepped out from behind the penny was about his first day in this place. He remembered thinking that staying at Wayne Manor would be interesting. He figured maybe he had misjudged the situation.

His guardian was the Batman… ‘interesting’ seemed like a bit of an understatement.


	17. The Batman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Multiple POVs; line breaks signal the change in perspective.

Dick supposed he should consider it a great achievement that he, an eight year old child, had not only discovered a hero’s secret hideout and uncovered his civilian identity; but had also somehow managed to slip out of his hiding spot undetected, walk over to where the man was standing by the computer, and startle _the Batman_ by gently tugging on his cape.

But pride was the furthest thing from Dick’s mind at the moment. Batman was standing in front of him, just as dark and intimidating as the first time he’d seen him. The fact that he was holding a plush, purple elephant in no way lessened the intimidating figure he cut. He hadn’t taken his cowl off yet, and knowing it was Bruce underneath the mask didn’t make the situation any less nerve-wracking. With half of his face hidden, it was hard to tell what kind of expression he was wearing.

Dick glanced at Alfred hoping for some indication of what to expect, but it wasn’t easy to tell what _he_ was feeling either. Or rather which he was feeling. It was as though he couldn’t decide if he was more shocked that Dick had found the cave, uncomfortable because he’d been the one to show him the way in, or worried about the boy being around so many weapons.

Dick chewed on his bottom lip nervously as he waited for them to say something, but the silence seemed to drag on for an eternity. Or maybe the fear of getting into trouble was what made it seem so unbearably long to Dick. He started fiddling with the hem of his shirt and swallowed heavily. “You, uh… have a nice cave,” was all he could think to say, head bowed and eyes peeking up at them.

Alfred was the first to react, “I’ll go prepare us something warm to drink, shall I?” He gave Bruce a meaningful look and walked away, disappearing into the elevator. Dick stared after him until he heard Bruce clear his throat.

He turned to see that the man had pulled back the cowl and grabbed a chair from one of the worktables. Bruce sat down in it, gesturing to the fancy computer chair, “Would you like to sit down?” It wasn’t exactly an order, but it wasn’t really a question either. Dick had a feeling he was about to be interrogated.

With a sigh, Dick hopped into the chair, his feet dangling above the ground. He looked warily at Bruce, eyebrows scrunched in anticipation; but all that followed was yet another awkward silence.

Dick felt kind of bad for Bruce, actually. It probably wasn’t often that he was caught off guard while in costume. But now he seemed to be at a complete loss for words.

“So…” Dick was still anxious, but he figured if Bruce wasn’t going to address the turn that events had taken he’d have to give it a shot, “You’re Batman.” He frowned as soon as the words left his mouth, realizing how obvious they were and feeling kind of dumb for saying them.

Bruce raised an eyebrow and Dick could feel his cheeks redden in embarrassment, but thankfully the man just nodded. “I am,” he agreed… and failed to continue, once again.

Dick blew out a breath, ruffling his fringe with the force of it; why was it so hard for them to have a simple conversation? Well, it was a conversation about finding out that his guardian was a billionaire that attended boring meetings by day and tossed criminals into jail by night, but still…

Dick turned his gaze down and watched his feet as he kicked them back and forth. Maybe the reason Bruce was having such a hard time was because he was trying to figure out the best way to scold him. His mother had done that all of the time when he had done something wrong. She’d send him to ‘think about what he’d done’ and give _herself_ time to think of the proper punishment. Her favorite had been time-outs because she knew that he hated sitting still.

Whenever he was waiting for her to decide on a fitting punishment, he never really thought about what had got him in trouble, though. Mostly he tried to think of ways to get out of it. Making her laugh was one way. He remembered this one time he had bargained with her to get out of a spanking. They’d made a deal; he would run past her really fast, and if she couldn’t get him on the way by he would be off the hook. His mother had been laughing too hard to even give it a proper try.

That wouldn’t work with Bruce though. He caught criminals every night, no way would Dick be able to get past him as easily as he had his mother. But there was another thing that usually got him out of trouble when his mom wasn’t in a laughing mood.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized softly.

Bruce stared at him, looking confused, “What are you sorry for?”

Dick shrugged a little helplessly, “For being a… pest?” The guard at Juvenile Hall had called him that enough times for him to know what it meant. “You’re mad at me for being down here, aren’t you?” he was so certain that this was the case that it came out as more of a statement than a question.

Bruce heaved a sigh, shaking his head, like he’d been expecting this reaction. “I’m not angry, Dick,” he tried to reassure the boy; but Dick was still uncertain. “Really, I promise,” Bruce reiterated, “I’m actually not surprised you found out.”

Dick couldn’t help the look of disbelief that crossed his face. “You aren’t?” he asked skeptically. When Bruce shook his head, Dick’s nose wrinkled and he observed honestly, “You look pretty surprised to me.”

Bruce couldn’t seem to help but smile a little. “I’m just surprised that you found it so quickly,” he clarified, “I was expecting two months or so; but I guess I shouldn’t have underestimated you… you’re a pretty smart kid.”

Dick felt a glimmer of pride at the complement but admitted, “I probably wouldn’t have found out if I hadn’t seen Alfred come out of the clock.”

“Maybe,” Bruce conceded looking thoughtful, “But if you were good enough to get past Alfred, it still counts.” He leaned forward and held Peanut out in offering. “Just don’t leave the evidence behind next time,” he advised.

Dick finally grinned as he took his animal back, but he was curious, “Would you have known I was here if I hadn’t left him?”

“Mmm,” Bruce looked around the room for a moment, rubbing his chin. His eyes narrowed briefly before he turned back to Dick, “Yes.”

Dick pouted a little and scanned the room too, but he didn’t notice anything that would have given him away. “How?” he demanded.

Bruce jerked a thumb to the weapon’s board, “One of the batarangs is upside down.” Dick saw it now; the strange knife that he had taken down to examine was positioned differently than the others. Dick couldn’t help but be impressed. How could anyone notice that in a two second sweep of the room? It was such a small thing.

“How long have you been doing this?” he wondered.

* * *

Bruce at last relaxed back into his chair, pulling off his gloves, and shrugged, “It’s been a while now; I also trained for a long time before I started going out on the streets.”

“How long did you train?” The boy would probably have a million questions now that he’d uncovered the secret of Batman.

Bruce pursed his lips, “Seven years.”

Dick’s eyes seemed to widen to the size of saucers. “Seven years?” he sounded incredulous, “That’s almost my whole life!”

Bruce smirked, eyes crinkling amusedly, “When you look at it that way it was a pretty long time, wasn’t it?”

“It’s a long time anyway you look at it,” Dick disagreed matter-of-factly. 

This actually pulled a chuckle out of Bruce, surprising himself and probably Dick as well. The elevator sounded it’s descent, meaning Alfred would be there soon; not that he’d been gone overly long, but it had to be well past three by now. That realization made Bruce pause and he considered Dick, innocently kicking his feet in the seat across from him. What was the boy doing out of bed at this time of night?

“Dick,” he questioned seriously, “How _did_ you find the entrance?”

Dick shrugged, “I went to check in the study and the clock started moving, so I hid under the desk.”

Bruce had to force himself to refrain from sighing. With Dick one had to be very precise on how they worded a question, because he liked to answer them ‘correctly’ and tended not to elaborate. Maybe it would get better when he became more fluent in English.

“What were you checking for in the study?” Bruce tried again.

Dick suddenly looked uncomfortable and his gaze shifted to his lap. Bruce pegged the way he started playing with his elephant’s bandana as an anxious habit. Something was obviously troubling him; Bruce frowned worriedly when the child suddenly pulled his legs onto the seat in a cross legged pose, hugging his toy closer as a shudder rippled through him.

“My apologies, Master Richard,” Alfred came up alongside of them, setting down his tray and unfolding the blanket he had brought with him. “Here you are, young sir. We’ll have you warmed up in a moment.”

He wrapped the blanket around Dick’s shoulders and carefully handed him a mug of hot chocolate. “Thank you,” Dick mumbled.

Alfred graced him with a small smile and retrieved another mug, “Master Bruce?”

Bruce absently accepted it, growing concerned as Dick proceeded to stare at his drink without taking a sip. “Dick,” he prompted gently, “What were you doing in the study?”

The boy’s answer was hardly comprehensible, the only audible words being ‘looking’ and ‘you’.

Bruce read between the lines and exchange a look with Alfred. “You were looking for me?” Dick nodded, clearly embarrassed. “Why?”

He answered with a shrug, “I didn’t know where Alfred’s room was… I guess he wouldn’t have been there anyway. I just,” there was a brief hesitation, “I needed to talk to someone.”

“Why?” Bruce repeated.

“Did something happen, Master Richard?” Alfred frowned.

Dick chewed his bottom lip for a minute before asking probably the last question Bruce was expecting. “Do… do you think Tony Zucco will come after me?”

“What would make you think that, Master Richard?” Alfred seemed just as shocked.

“I… had a dream. And in it he threw-“ Dick stopped short before he could complete the thought. He took a shaky breath, “He tried to kill me in the dream. Do you think he’ll try in real life?”

“Well…” Bruce started to reassure him but thought better of it. He’d said it himself; Dick was a smart kid, and he was very perceptive… he would see right through a dishonest answer. “I think if he had the chance,” Bruce said slowly, “yes, he probably would try to kill you.” Dick hunched further in on himself, obviously fearful. Bruce felt a twinge of pain in his chest at how small and miserable he looked, and he reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. “But I promise you, Dick,” his voice brooked no arguments, “I won’t give him the chance.”

The smile Dick managed was small, but it uplifted Bruce’s spirits. “I know,” he whispered, “You’re Batman, right?”

Bruce smiled in return, “Right.”

The tension seemed to ease from the boy’s frame and Alfred gently removed the mug as those blue eyes started to blink sleepily. “Batman,” he repeated stifling a yawn. He considered Bruce and then remarked, “It’s kind of strange.”

“Yeah,” Bruce agreed glancing at Alfred, who looked thoroughly amused. “It’s definitely strange.”


	18. The Request

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Multiple POVs; line breaks signal the change in perspective.

The next morning Dick woke up in his bed.

It confused him, to say the least. The last thing he remembered was Bruce asking him not to tell anyone about his being Batman.

“Who would I tell?” Dick had inquired, already half asleep, “You and Alfred are the only people I really talk to.” Then he had been out like a light, snuggled up in the blanket Alfred had brought for him.

Now Dick looked around his room where he saw the sunlight peeking through the bottom of the curtains. There was nothing there to indicate that he had ever run out in a panic the night before. The door was snuggly closed, his blankets were no longer in a tangled mess, and Peanut was lying on the pillow next to him as though he’d been there all night.

Dick frowned and wondered if it had _all_ been a dream. He knew he had a crazy imagination, but he’d never dreamed something that strange before… or something that had felt so real.

With a disheartened sigh, Dick climbed out of bed to get ready for the day. The only way to find out for sure if it had happened was to talk to Bruce and Alfred. . . . . 

“Good morning, Master Richard,” Alfred greeted him as he entered the kitchen, “How did you sleep?”

“Okay, I guess.” Dick studied the butler carefully, trying to figure out if he remembered the night before without coming right out and saying it. It wouldn’t be an easy task if all he had to go off of was Alfred’s expression; the older man wasn’t acting any differently than was normal.

“Is Bruce… working?” Maybe if he asked indirectly Alfred would give something away.

“I believe he is shaving, young sir.”

No such luck; Dick sat down and crossed his arms on the table, in an attempt to limit his fidgeting. He didn’t want to ask and look stupid for forgetting such an incredible secret.

It was a pretty monumental discovery, finding out Batman’s identity, after all. How could anyone forget it in one night? But if it _hadn’t_ actually happened, Alfred would probably think he was beginning to lose his mind. He’d probably give Dick ‘The Look’, which consisted of a raised eyebrow, an amused smile, and a small shake of the head. It was that look that Dick had received when he’d asked if ‘nial’ meant you accepted something since ‘denial’ meant you didn’t.

Dick’s face had turned the color of a cherry the first time Alfred had given him ‘The Look’.

Dick leaned forward with a sigh and rested his chin on his arms; he’d just wait for Bruce and see what he said. He knew what he _wanted_ Bruce to say. He wanted it to have been real. Not only because he thought that it would be really cool to have an awesome hero for a guardian… though that was part of it; but there was another reason as well. There was something Dick wanted to ask of Batman.

It would probably be best not to get his hopes up, though. Not much had gone right in his life the past few months; why should this be any different?

“Morning.” Dick was brought out of his thoughts when Bruce finally made an entrance into the kitchen. He had, as a matter of fact, shaved recently as Alfred had indicated. But Dick couldn’t help the surge of disappointment that flooded through him; Bruce didn’t look nearly tired enough for someone who had stayed up half the night.

Dick remembered his father without sleep. He had always been irritable in the mornings and it didn’t matter what anyone did or said; until he got his cup of coffee he absolutely refused to smile. There had only been one time when they’d forgotten to stock up on it because it had been a busy week and there wasn’t time for anyone to go to the nearest grocery store. When his dad had woken up…

Well, they had agreed never to mention that day again for a reason. John Grayson without coffee was not something you wanted to tangle with… ever. The whole crew had been on there toes that day, except for an unsuspecting Dick, who had never experienced his father without coffee for more than fifteen minutes. And when Dick finally did that morning, _both_ of his parents had been in bad moods. Mary was furious at John for hurting Dick with his bad attitude; and John was mad at… well, everybody in a general sense.

At least he’d apologized the day after for making Dick cry. Nothing said ‘forgive me I was an idiot’ like two scoops of chocolate ice cream in a waffle cone.

Bruce didn’t look like he was going to snap or complain about everything, and he didn’t seem overly happy either. He was just… acting normal. Bruce was about as much help as Alfred had been when it came to reading expressions.

“Morning,” Dick tried to return the greeting cheerfully, but he wasn’t sure he’d succeeded. He was pretty much convinced it _was_ all a dream by now. He’d always been good at reading people, but Bruce and Alfred weren’t behaving any differently than they had yesterday morning. Discovering something as important as Batman’s secret identity should get _some_ kind of reaction, shouldn’t it?

“Are you alright, Dick?” Bruce frowned at him speculatively.

Dick slumped back in his chair as Alfred set a plate overflowing with bacon and scrambled eggs in front of him. Obviously, he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as they appeared to be, “I’m fine,” he mumbled without looking up.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed as he seemed to be studying the boy carefully, and Dick tried not to squirm. After a brief moment, though, the man’s face broke into a small smile, “You weren’t dreaming last night.”

Dick’s head jerked up, surprise and hope warring on his face. “What?” he wanted to be sure he’d heard right.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Bruce conceded as he picked up his silverware, “But it wasn’t your imagination.”

Dick squinted at him, “You’re sure?” Bruce nodded solemnly and Dick’s breath gusted out of him in relief. “Good,” he said, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, “I’m not going crazy then.”

“Just give it a little time, Master Richard,” Alfred commented from where he stood, drying one of his pans, “I’m sure it won’t be long in this house.”

Dick blinked, head tilted in confusion as Bruce stared at the butler in shock. “Was that an actual joke, Alfred?” he demanded in clear disbelief.

Alfred’s voice and expression never changed, but Dick thought a teasing light warmed his eyes, “I see you’re working on improving your observational skills, Master Bruce.” With that, he turned his back to them, continuing on with his dishes.

Bruce and Dick stared at him for a moment longer before sharing a look… and then they smiled. Dick ducked his head down and bit his lip to keep from giggling, but Bruce just shook his head and rolled his eyes.

They ate in silence for a while after that, but eventually Dick broached the subject he’d been hoping to talk about. “Bruce?” he prompted hesitantly, “Could I… ask you something?”

“I guess so,” Bruce replied, seeming curious.

Dick didn’t say anything right away; he knew what he was going to ask, he just wanted to word it the right way. He was afraid that Bruce might say no if he didn’t explain why it was so important.

“I was thinking last night,” he started carefully, “When that man grabbed me at the party, you and Commissioner Gordon saved me. But in my dream I was all alone. I couldn’t get away from Zucco, and I couldn’t stop him from… from throwing me off of the roof.” Dick looked down, frowning uneasily at the memory. “I know it was just a dream,” he continued quietly, “But if it really happened-“

“It won’t,” Bruce tried to reassure him.

Dick looked up to meet his eyes, feeling stubbornness spark within him, “But if it _did_ , I wouldn’t be able to do anything. I’d die…” A deep sorrow overcame him like a flood and his shoulders slumped as he looked away again, voice fading to a whisper, “just like them.”

By now Alfred had stopped cleaning and both adults seemed to be giving the boy their full attention. “I’d have been killed at the cemetery last week if you hadn’t saved me,” he reminded his guardian, “I never had to defend myself in the circus. But now… I don’t like feeling helpless, Bruce.” He looked at the man pleadingly, “Would you teach me some of the things you learned as Batman?”

* * *

Bruce felt his entire body freeze up at the question; he didn’t know how to handle this conversation.

Bruce definitely wasn’t eager to teach Dick _anything_ about fighting; he was worried that, before he knew it, the boy would be making himself a costume and asking Bruce to go on patrol with him. That kind of constant danger, exposing such a young child to criminals on a nightly bases… He could imagine ‘The Look’ he’d get from Alfred. Not to mention the Justice League if they ever found out. Clark, in particular, would probably glare at him so hard he’d accidently blast Bruce with his heat vision.

Bruce could think of exactly 68 reasons, off of the top of his head, of why it was a horrible idea.

He opened his mouth to begin listing them, too; but he made the mistake of looking at Dick before he could start. Big, hopeful, blue eyes stared back at him, unwavering. And he found the one reason he had no choice but to agree.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce ran a hand through his hair. He noticed that Dick sat up a little straighter and appearing to hold his breath as he waited for the answer.

“Fine,” Bruce finally agreed, carefully avoiding Alfred’s gaze. He was going to get an earful of the older man’s opinion shortly, he was sure. But he didn’t want to try and defend his decision right now; not in front of Dick. And he would need time to come up with a better excuse than ‘puppy-dog eyes’ for that conversation anyway, “I’ll do it.”

* * *

Dick’s whole face lit up with excitement and disbelief. “Really?” he was practically bouncing out of his seat, “You’ll really teach me?”

“Yes,” Bruce agreed, raising a quieting finger before Dick could say anything else, “But you’ll have to do everything I tell you. No complaining.”

“I won’t!” Dick refuted with an enthusiastic shake of his head; a strange mixture of anticipation, joy, and nervousness bubbled within his stomach, “I promise!”

“Then we have a deal,” Bruce nodded gravely.

“When can we start?” Dick asked eagerly. He didn’t want to wait, but he knew Bruce had to work today. And tonight he would probably be busy doing paperwork or being Batman.

Bruce pursed his lips and seemed to consider the question for a moment. “I’ll take the weekend off,” he finally decided, “We can start then.”

Alfred interrupted them as he came over to gather their empty plates. “Now that we have that settled,” he shot a look in Bruce’s direction, “I believe that you have a company to run, Master Bruce. And _you_ , Master Richard,” he glanced back at Dick, “have poetry to catch up on.”

Dick was too ecstatic to even care about having to read boring old poetry. Bruce was going to teach him self-defense; he was going to be trained by _the_ Batman. He felt like nothing could dampen his spirits today.

Dick hopped out of his seat and rushed for the door, but skidded to a stop before he exited, hesitating with a glance back towards Bruce. The man was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed with a slightly constipated expression scrunching his eyebrows.

Dick ran back before he could second guess himself and threw his arms around his guardian in a hug. “Thanks, Bruce,” he whispered with a soft smile.

Then he turned around and hurried out of the room leaving two, slightly stunned adults staring after him as the door swung shut.


	19. Training Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Multiple POVs; line breaks signal the change in perspective.

Bruce stood at the edge of the training mat, arms crossed and expression closed off as he watched Dick’s movements. For something as important as self-defense, he felt it would be better to look at it from Batman’s perspective; tough and critical.

After all, these were things that could save the boy’s life someday, they had to be taken seriously. Be precise, be efficient, and keep your head; that was how Batman looked at things. There was no hand-holding in life or death situations. No comfort zones. If Dick wanted to be prepared for that eventuality, Bruce would have to help him the only way he knew how.

“Your form is off,” he critiqued flatly, “Your feet aren’t positioned right; an attacker could easily throw you off balance and you’d be pinned before you even had time to blink.”

Dick glanced down and shifted his feet, “Like this?”

* * *

The first thing they’d done after breakfast, was to go over the most basic of defensive maneuvers, which had taken nearly three hours; apparently Bruce’s definition of basic was different from the one Dick had learned in Juvie. Now Bruce was standing to the side and randomly calling them out, to see if Dick could remember which was which and what position to get into. He had yet to pull one off that Bruce hadn’t corrected him on, but seeing as it was his first day, he wasn’t terribly disheartened. He’d been waiting for this moment all week long.

Alfred had given Dick many worried looks throughout the previous day, as though he were afraid the boy might literally burst with his anticipation. Bruce had probably thought that he’d be too keyed up to pay much attention their first lesson. Honestly, there were a few times Dick had feared that would be the case as well; but when it came time, he had forced himself to calm down… he didn’t want to miss anything important.

Besides, he’d promised that he would do everything the man said, so he refused to complain... even though his movements were more sluggish than when he’d started, his stomach was threatening to growl any minute, and he was more than a little sweaty. He wasn’t sure he’d have the breath to protest if he wanted to anyway; Dick hadn’t realized until this moment just how long it had been since he had last exercised.

Up until this point, Dick had only used his energy in brief spurts… and only when it was necessary. This lesson was really winding him.

“Pull your arms closer to your chest,” Bruce directed sternly. Something that had thrown Dick, at first, was how quickly the man went from being Bruce Wayne to the Dark Knight. It was like they really were two different people… which was probably the point; but still, Dick couldn’t help but wonder if they had anything in common.

* * *

“Watch your posture,” Bruce added once Dick had fixed the positioning of his arms.

Bruce wouldn’t say it out loud, considering it was only the first lesson… but he was impressed with how well Dick was doing. It was true that he was making quite a few mistakes, but that had been expected. What really impressed Bruce was the boy’s attitude; every criticism so far had been taken in stride without a hint of frustration. He continued to push himself further, though he was obviously tiring; they would have to stop for a lunch break soon.

Probably the most remarkable thing of all, though, was how focused he seemed. He listened so attentively to every word Bruce spoke, as though they were spun with gold.

That made Bruce wonder…

Dick was determined, that was very clear. Bruce could understand where he was coming from in not wanting to feel helpless. The boy had had to depend heavily on a lot of people in the past few months; and many of those people had let him down. The moment he needed someone to be there, more than ever before in his life, he had been pushed aside as though he were nothing. Whether he realized it or not, Bruce saw that Dick’s trust had been shaken. And while he believed that Bruce would try to take care of him when it counted… Dick probably wasn’t confident he’d always be there on time.

Bruce had felt something similar the night he’d watched his own parents shot down before his eyes. He’d been helpless in that moment to stop it, and only a few people had cared about what happened to him after that. He remembered never wanting to feel that way again. All the anger, all the bitterness… he focused it into being Batman. He did what he did to make sure that others never had to feel that same horrifying emptiness that had stuck with him to this day.

Until that night at the circus… when he’d failed.

Bruce had a feeling that, on some level, that’s what Dick was trying to do too. Zucco may have had a little to do with it, but Bruce didn’t think just fear of the man himself was enough to motivate Dick to this extent. The boy was looking for an outlet, somewhere to focus his emotions. He was looking for a purpose.

Even Alfred would have to understand, if Bruce could just find the words to explain, why he couldn’t bring himself to deny Dick this request.

* * *

“Bruce?” Dick questioned hesitantly. He’d been holding his form for a while now, waiting for Bruce’s input, “Are you alright?”

Bruce stared at him, and Dick finally noticed how far away his gaze seemed. But then he blinked and uncrossed his arms, “Why don’t we break for lunch?”

Dick narrowed his eyes in concern but followed him to one of the worktables; Alfred had cleared it nearly an hour ago when he’d brought down their lunch. A tray full of peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches, with two tall glasses of milk, were waiting for them and Dick’s stomach released a noisy growl.

He hurried over and hopped into one of the chairs, glancing at Bruce as he dug into his lunch without hesitation. Something was obviously bugging his guardian; he had zoned out on the last exercise and now he seemed to be doing it again. Dick watched as Bruce studied the tabletop, absentmindedly tearing apart his sandwich. A scowl slowly began to crease the man’s eyebrows and he poked the mutilated pieces of bread around on his plate, as though trying to decide which one to eat and then having none of them meet his standards.

“I think they all taste the same, Bruce,” Dick pointed out, mouth twisted to the side in consternation, “What’s wrong?” He paused, biting his lip worriedly before adding, “Is it… something I did?”

Bruce looked up, as though surprised, and his expression softened a little. “No, Dick, it’s not you,” he denied reassuringly, “I was just thinking about… a problem I’ve been having.”

“Problem?” Dick’s brow furrowed, “What kind of problem?” Bruce looked hesitant to answer, which just made Dick even more curious.

“It’s a Batman problem,” Bruce admitted.

“Can I help?” Dick asked without thinking. Bruce immediately frowned and Dick ducked his head, feeling like an idiot for even saying it. Of course Bruce would think he meant actually going into the city; like that was a possibility after only one day of training. He felt his cheeks color slightly as he tried to explain, “That’s not- I mean I didn’t…” he winced and cautiously raised his eyes, “Daj used to tell me that talking about a problem made it easier. I just thought, maybe it would work for you too?”

Bruce seemed a mixture of relieved and skeptical as he studied Dick, but in the end he sighed and relented, “The problem is… I made a mistake as Batman. And now I’m not sure how to fix it.”

“Was it a bad mistake?”

Bruce grimaced, “I was too late to stop a crime and now no one can find the man who committed it; I had _one_ lead but it fell through.” He rubbed his head as though fighting a migraine, “Now that I’ve hit a dead end, I’m afraid he’ll disappear and I’ll never catch him. Just like…”

Dick stared at Bruce as he trailed off, looking sorrowful and disheartened; it wasn’t difficult to put the pieces together.

“The brother you were talking about the other night?” he whispered softly, “That was your lead?” Bruce nodded. “And he didn’t know where Zucco’s hiding?”

Bruce looked so apologetic that it twisted at something inside of Dick, “He wasn’t in town that night. And judging from how bad he was shaking when I questioned him… I think he honestly doesn’t know anything.”

“What about the other brother?” Dick pressed hopefully.

“He hasn’t turned up yet.” Dick looked down and closed his eyes. If even Batman couldn’t find Tony Zucco, what chance did his parents have for justice? At this very moment, the man could be on some tropical island relaxing in the sunshine. While his parents were…

A red hot rage surged through him when he thought about the unfairness of it all. How was it right that Zucco got to keep living his life when he had taken two others? Without punishment or remorse? Dick spent every day thinking about his family. He imagined Zucco probably hadn’t spared them one minute. Some of the things he wished upon the man honestly scared Dick. But if he couldn’t be in prison, he should suffer somehow, shouldn’t he?

Maybe that was completely messed up. Dick wasn’t sure, he had never felt anger like this before. It swept over him like a wave from time to time if he thought too long about the circumstances of his parent’s deaths. Sometimes he worried that if he wasn’t careful it would drown him.

“Dick,” Bruce interrupted his thoughts with a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

Dick drew in a deep breath, forcing the red haze away, and met his guardian’s eyes. Something told him that Bruce wasn’t really apologizing for the snag in the case. Batman wasn’t the type to quit, after all; he would keep looking until he found Zucco, no matter how long it took.

Bruce was apologizing for something else, something he was ‘too late’ to stop. Dick suddenly remembered that Bruce had been at the circus that night… Batman had been there.

Bruce must’ve felt like it was his fault.

But he’d been in the audience, just another civilian in the crowd; with no more clue than anyone else about what was going to happen. There was nothing Bruce could have done. The ropes hadn’t snapped in slow motion... and Batman couldn’t freeze time.

Dick managed a small smile and placed his hand atop Bruce’s own on his shoulder. “The only person responsible is Tony Zucco. Okay?” he reminded, reusing Bruce’s own words.

Bruce hummed at the memory and then smiled, his shoulders loosening as though a weight had physically been lifted from his shoulders with just that small measure of absolution. Dick kind of felt lighter too.

“Right,” Bruce dropped his hand and glanced at his shredded sandwich, frowning in distaste. Furtively, he looked around the room, as though expecting to see Alfred spying on them from the elevator. There was a surprisingly mischievous look in his eyes as he turned back to Dick, leaning forward on his elbows. “Question,” he lowered his voice conspiratorially, “How do you feel about ice cream?”

Dick grinned impishly in reply, “Make it chocolate.”


	20. The Fourth of July

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized quotations indicate the speaker is using another language.  
> Multiple POVs; line breaks signal the change in perspective.

“ _Come on_!” Dick pleaded impatiently, tugging on his father’s hand, “ _We’ll miss the fireworks_!”

John Grayson chuckled as they climbed up the grassy hill behind the fairgrounds, the seven year old struggling to make him move faster. He was huffing and pulling, grunting with the effort, his face screwed up in a frustrated pout. Dick suspected that if his dad were to let go of his hand right now he’d fall over backwards.

“ _I think we’d see them just as well from the bottom of the hill,”_ John’s amusement was clear in his voice as he slowed his pace even further.

Dick wrinkled his nose and dug his heels into the ground, as if he could in any way budge the taller, heavier man. He knew his dad was just messing with him; but he didn’t want to miss anything and he wasn’t sure when the show would start. “ _It wouldn’t be the same_ ,” he protested.

“ _Why not_?” John raised an eyebrow.

Answering with, “ _Because!”_ earned him an eye roll, which Dick chose to ignore.

Dick felt like he was on a sugar high, practically vibrating with excitement; usually they were performing on the trapeze when the cities they visited shot off their Independence Day fireworks. But this time the celebration hadn’t been scheduled until thirty minutes after The Flying Grayson’s last performance. This was the first Fourth of July Dick was going to get to see every colorful explosion from the start to the finish.

He had checked the day before and hadn’t found any spot with as good of a view as this hilltop. He tugged again, bouncing on his toes, and tried to persuade his dad to hurry. “ _Besides, Mom is waiting for us_ ,” he reasoned, “ _We can’t leave her alone. She’ll be worried_!”

“Dick,” John laughed, shaking his head at the sky, “ _She can see us from where she is right now; why should she worry_?” To prove his point he lifted his hand to wave; it was the one Dick was holding and the boy was easily lifted off of the ground. He had to bite his lip to keep from giggling when he was _supposed_ to be annoyed.

Mary was kneeling in the grass a few feet ahead at the top of the hill, spreading a blanket out for them to sit on. She paused when she saw them, though, and waved back with a bright smile.

“ _There, you see_ ,” John teased his son as he lowered him gently back down, “ _She now clearly knows that we’re okay… so we can go as slow as we want to without causing a fuss._ ”

Dick scowled in displeasure and probably would have crossed his arms… except he would have to let go of his dad’s hand to do that. “ _She’ll be bored then_ ,” he changed his argument, “ _So come on_!”

This time, when Dick moved, John allowed himself to be pulled uphill. As soon as they reached the top, Dick let go of his father’s hand and ran to sit on the blanket with his mother.

“ _Ah, there’s my little robin_ ,” she beamed and brushed her fingers through his hair fondly, “ _I was wondering what was keeping you_.”

Dick gave his father an impish grin and declared, “ _It was Dat’s fault. He_ -“

“ _Hey_!” John interrupted as he took a seat beside his family; he glared at his son, but Dick could see the humor sparkling in his eyes. “ _What have we told you about telling made up stories_?” he tweaked his son’s nose, drawing a delighted laugh.

“ _To leave them to the fortune teller_.”

Mary snorted and shook her head, looking at John questioningly. “ _Bathroom door_?” she guessed. John could only shrug sheepishly and Mary flicked his shoulder, “ _I keep telling you to get it fixed_.”

“ _And I keep forgetting_ ,” he grinned. Mary sighed as John turned back to Dick, chucking him lightly on the chin, “ _Not my fault,_ ” he reiterated firmly.

Dick and Mary shared an unconvinced look; but before John could continue to try and defend himself, an explosion lit up the night sky in a glorious shower of sparkling red lights.

Dick immediately lost interest in the conversation. “ _It’s starting_!” he exclaimed, shifting excitedly to lean forward. “ _Look, did you see it_?!” he pointed as another one whistled into the air.

The next to burst open was a brilliant blue and Dick tilted his head to look at his mother, “ _That one’s the same color as our eyes_!”

Mary smiled and wrapped her arms around Dick, pulling him closer so that she could rest her cheek on the top his head. “ _No, little bird, your eyes outshine them any day.”_

Dick twisted a little in an attempt to smile at her, but his eyes caught on something moving through the line of trees to their left. He frowned and squinted, trying to make it out.

Was it… it looked like… a person was watching them.

“ _Daj_ ,” he pulled away from her, “ _Who is that_?”

Mary followed his eye-line to the trees, expression one of confusion. “ _You see someone, baby_?”

“ _He was right there,_ ” Dick insisted, “ _Watching us_.”

John seemed just as puzzled as Mary, “ _Are you sure, Dick… I don’t see anything_.”

Dick jumped to his feet and ran after the figure, instead of answering, but he didn’t know why. It almost felt like he had no control over his own body, he was just drawn to chase after the mysterious person. A haze was clouding over his mind and he didn’t care about the fireworks anymore, he didn’t hear his parent’s panicked voices calling for him to stop; he just kept running.

And then the sound of screaming rent the quiet night air in two...

Dick’s eyes widened and he followed after his parent’s terror ridden cries in a mad dash. “ _Daj_! _Dat_!” he called out to them. He didn’t know how they had gotten in front of him, but it didn’t matter; they needed him!

“ _Daj_?!” he broke through the trees into a clearing and turned in a circle, looking for them frantically. “ _Dat_!”

The clearing led to a cliff, where a tall man stood. He was looking over the edge with his back to Dick… and he was laughing.

Then Dick saw the strong, calloused hand gripping the ledge by the man’s feet.

“ _No_!” he screamed running forward, knowing in an instant who it belonged to, “ _Dat_! _Hang on_! _I’m coming_!”

By the time he reached the ledge the mysterious man had disappeared, as though he had never existed in the first place. Dick skidded onto his knees and felt his heart twist when he saw his father clutching onto the cliff with one hand and holding onto his mother with the other.

“ _No_ ,” Dick gasped in a whisper as tears spilled down his cheeks. He grabbed his father’s wrist, voice choked as he begged, “ _Hold on, Dat, and I’ll pull you up._ ”

“Dick…” John’s voice was strained.

“ _Please_ ,” Dick shook his head violently, “ _Don’t leave me by myself! Don’t go_ …”

“ _You’re not alone, little robin_ ,” John promised softly. His hand slipped until he was holding on with just the tips of his fingers; Dick was clinging even more desperately, hardly able to breathe through the ragged sobs tearing out of his chest.

“ _We love you,_ ” he heard… and then they were falling from the trapeze and he was kneeling on the platform, listening as they called his name in their final moments…

Dick woke up weeping into a pillow already stained with tears.

* * *

_Thwack!_

Bruce froze in the process of removing his cowl and frowned. He tilted his head to listen more carefully, making sure he hadn’t been imagining things; it had been a pretty long night after all.

_Thwack-Thwack!_

Two of the noises in rapid succession. So it wasn’t in his mind.

Bruce dropped the cowl to hang from his neck and started looking for the source of the sound. It was hard to be sure of exactly where it was coming from because of the way the cave echoed, but he soon pinpointed it as having originated from the training area.

Bruce sighed and glanced over his shoulder at the computer’s clock, seeing that it was nearly four in the morning. He rubbed a thumb and forefinger over his tired eyes and shook his head, then he straightened and continued walking.

Another _Thwack!_ reached his ears as Bruce rounded the corner to where the mats were located.

He had been expecting Dick to be practicing one of the routines they’d been working on together with the dummies as a stand-in, perhaps; but what he ended up walking in on was far more surprising.

Dick _had_ set the dummies out on the floor, seemingly at random in terms of placement and distance from each other; they formed a loose sort of semi-circle around the large square mat. Then the boy had apparently scattered Batarangs, also randomly, upon the surface of the mat itself. The most shocking thing about it all, though, was what he was doing with them.

Bruce watched in sincere amazement as Dick flipped, somersaulted, and cartwheeled over the space; every move was expertly smooth and precise. Whenever he came within range of the mannequins at the nearest edges, he would incorporate some of the defensive moves Bruce had been teaching him. Then he’d flip away while grabbing a batarang or two and proceed to throw them at the dummies. Bruce could tell by the numerous bat-shaped knives already impaled, that Dick must have exceptionally good aim indeed; something that the man would have to keep in mind for further discussion.

Dick didn’t notice Bruce until he flipped and landed facing the doorway.

Instantly the boy froze in shock; eyes wide, arm still raised to throw the batarang at the next target. He quickly jerked his hand behind his back as though that would make Bruce forget seeing the knife in his hand; Alfred had finally accepted the self-defense training, but he had adamantly refused to let Dick near the weapons. If it had been the butler standing there, Bruce was sure the boy would have gotten an earful.

Bruce, on the other hand, simply crossed his arms with a tilt of his head. “I think you missed one,” he commented, keeping his expression neutral. Dick furrowed his eyebrows curiously, undoubtedly surprised he hadn’t gotten into trouble. Bruce nodded towards one of the body stand-ins to clarify what he’d meant by his statement.

The lone figure was almost in the center of the mayhem, in clear view and more easily targeted than some of the others. In fact, every single one of them seemed to have at least five batarangs sticking out of them like needles in a pincushion; save for the one in question.

Dick shook his head, still wearing a confused frown. “I didn’t miss it,” he objected, “I wasn’t trying to hit that one.”

“Oh?” Bruce raised a brow, “And why would that be?”

“I was pretending he was, uh…” Dick trailed off and shifted uncomfortably, his eyes averted. Bruce could see a hint of color rise to his cheeks as though he were embarrassed.

Inspecting the object of their conversation more closely, Bruce noticed something he hadn’t caught at first glance. He couldn’t help but smirk a little when he saw the faint outline of a bat done in childish scrawl on the mannequin’s chest. It was hard not to feel a little flattered in discovering that Dick had been pretending it was him.

“Helping Batman take down the bad guys?” he guessed, amused.

“Not exactly,” Dick mumbled, dropping the previously hidden weapon from his hand, and nudging it with his toe.

“So it was just you taking them down,” Bruce teased lightly, “Did I lose a fight with Mr. Freeze and leave you to save the day?”

Dick looked up, seeming bewildered, “You don’t lose fights.”

Bruce smiled and sat down on the edge of the mat, patting the spot beside him; Dick shuffled over, looking a bit reluctant. When he was settled Bruce asked him seriously, “Do you know what time it is?”

Dick blinked innocently ,“Late?”

“… You had another nightmare, didn’t you?” Bruce tried to soften his voice.

Dick’s shoulders slumped in defeat as he sighed and rested his elbows on his knees, holding his chin in his hands. “I couldn’t fall back asleep,” he admitted, “I thought training might make me tired again… but it didn’t really work.”

Bruce hummed in understanding and Dick looked at him with sad, desperate eyes, “It’s been four months, Bruce. Four months and three days exactly. But the dreams… even the happy ones, they all end up the same way.” His gaze returned to the floor, voice going a little raspy, “I dreamed about how we watched the fireworks today, last year. It was exactly like I remembered. I thought for once maybe it would stay that way… but they still fell in the end.”

“It’s difficult,” Bruce agreed, thinking back to what his own nightmares were like after the shooting… gunshots and scattered pearls.

“When… when do you think they’ll stop?” Dick wondered quietly.

“Not soon enough I’m afraid.” He knew it wasn’t exactly comforting, but Dick had so far seemed to appreciate Bruce’s honesty on the matter. They sat in silence for a while, lost in their own troubled thoughts. After a few moments, though, Bruce found himself considering the boy curiously.

“So the mannequin you were pretending was me,” he inquired, hoping to get Dick’s mind off of his bad dreams, “What _was_ it there for?”

Dick shrugged, “You always watch me when I’m practicing. It helped me remember what you’ve been teaching me.”

“Mmm,” Bruce rubbed his chin with a small shake of his head, “I don’t think you learned _all_ of those moves from me; can you imagine Batman cartwheeling over the criminals?”

Dick gave him a small smile, a playful twinkle brightening his eyes. “I might could imagine him getting tangled in his cape if he tried.”

Bruce scowled in mock offense. “I thought you said I never lose a fight,” he pointed out.

“You’d still win,” Dick reassured him seriously, “The bad guys would be laughing so hard they would pass out because they couldn’t breathe.” Then Dick jumped to his feet and ran away, laughing at the man’s expression.

Bruce’s surprise didn’t last long and soon, with a smile, he was chasing after the overly amused boy. He caught up to him near the computer and wrapped an arm around his waist, lifting him clean off of the ground. Dick squealed in surprise even as he continued giggling; he grabbed at Bruce’s arm and halfheartedly tried to escape.

“You think that was funny, do you?” Bruce growled playfully.

“Yes!”

“Well do you know what I think is funny?” Dick shook his head, “Tickling comedians!”

“No! Bruce!” Dick protested through gales of laughter as the tickling commenced. Somewhere along the way, Bruce realized that he was laughing too; it somewhat startled him… especially since he was still dressed as Batman. And while usually he hated being caught off guard, for once he found he didn’t mind at all. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d _really_ laughed. Not like this at least.

Unfortunately, the moment didn’t last long.

The computer sounded an alert, screen lightening as it did so, and Bruce and Dick froze at the jarring sound. A message popped up.

SUSPECT SPOTTED

Bruce set Dick back down and walked to the keyboard, the boy following closely behind him. A glance at the clock revealed it to be twelve minutes after four and Bruce frowned in consternation.

He had to be at work in roughly three and a half hours. He was pretty much running on empty as it was… and he hadn’t had an ounce of caffeine to sustain him.

Bruce sighed wearily and rubbed a hand over his face. He would see who he was being alerted to and then decide if he should go after them or if they could wait for another night. If it was someone like the Joker or Two-Face they would have to be dealt with quickly; hopefully, it was one of the less violent criminals, like Catwoman, and could be handled the following night.

Bruce clicked on the box and the ‘reported sighting’ information replaced it, earning a shocked gasp from Dick at the name displayed at the top of the file. This was definitely one of the times Bruce did _not_ like being caught off guard. He grit his teeth as he read the name again.

TONY ZUCCO


	21. Justice

Dick was so shocked as he watched Zucco’s name flashing on the screen, that for a moment he forgot how to breathe.

After four months of hearing nothing, he had started to lose hope that the man would ever be seen again. There had been plenty of time for him to run; why would he choose to remain in Gotham, where he was a wanted man?

Dick’s heart seized in his chest as the thought crossed his mind that perhaps Tony Zucco was here because he was still waiting for a chance to kill him. He recalled, with vivid clarity, the dream he’d had about being thrown off of the roof and an involuntarily shudder rattled his frame. Dick knew nothing about it had been real, but even now he still hadn’t shaken the idea that he was _intended_ to die with his parents… the ropes had just snapped too soon.

He glanced up at Bruce, who was scanning the report with narrowed eyes. It had to have been nearly twenty-four hours since he’d last gotten any sleep. Dick could tell how exhausted he was by the way his shoulders were sagging; but even so, after he’d finished reading the report Bruce pulled the cowl down over his face and turned to leave. “You should go back to sleep,” he spoke shortly, walking to the weapons board to restock his belt, “I’ll be back soon.”

Dick shot an incredulous look at the man’s back, a sound of protest escaping his throat. Bruce couldn’t honestly think there was a chance the boy could sleep _now,_ could he?

Dick glanced back at the computer, eyes quickly scanning over the information provided. Aside from the time of the sighting and the address of an apartment building, there was also a short profile on the man’s background. The words ‘mob boss’ immediately drew Dick’s attention and answered the question of why Zucco hadn’t left the city. Here he was a leader among criminals, and if he left he’d be starting over from scratch. His men had probably been helping him to hide until the pressure was off for his apprehension, especially if they knew Batman was the one so relentlessly searching him out.

Further down the page Dick spotted something else that caught him completely off guard, eyes widening like saucers. There, in black and white, was a small blurb on Zucco’s past that branded him as having been a circus kid.

The man had grown up, just like Dick, performing for crowds underneath the Big Top. The Zucco’s had apparently specialized in knife-throwing, and Tony Zucco had learned everything there was to know about the art from his father… the same father he had accidently killed while they were performing.

Accidents like that happened sometimes, especially with such dangerous acts. For a while Dick had thought _his_ parents’ death had been one of those accidents. Zucco had to have been devastated when it happened, knowing it had been at his hand; and Dick just couldn’t process how the man could live with himself knowing he’d caused it to happen to someone else… _willingly._

Dick heard Bruce’s footsteps on the metal walkway that led to where he kept the vehicles and he felt a surge of panic course through him. Without thinking, he ran after his guardian with surprising speed, considering the shock he was still reeling with; he caught up to Bruce just as he was opening the door of the Batmobile and grabbed his arm.

“Bruce, don’t!” he begged, “Don’t go!”

Batman’s mask hid confusion well, but it was heard clearly in Bruce’s voice, “Why? You want him to go to jail don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Dick huffed, “But I don’t want you…”

“Don’t want me to what?” Bruce pressed when the boy trailed off.

Dick just shook his head, feeling frustrated and upset. What he didn’t want was for Bruce to get hurt. He knew that the man was Batman and that he could handle himself in a lot of situations, but right now he was running on fumes; and Tony Zucco was an experienced knife thrower who would be _aiming_ to kill this time. He’d been a teenager when his father had died; in the years since, he’d no doubt come to master the craft. What if Bruce wasn’t fast enough to get out of the way? He and Alfred were the closest thing Dick had to a family now. He didn’t want to lose another one…

“Please,” was all he could manage to say, voice barely above a whisper. Bruce shook his head, gently prying Dick’s fingers from his arm with a weary sigh.

“I’ll be fine,” he tried to reassure the boy, “If I don’t get him now he could disappear again.”

“Then he’ll undisappear later,” Dick persisted, “You’re tired, I can tell. You can’t go… at least,” his speech slowed thoughtfully, “not alone…”

“Dick,” Bruce’s voice held a warning. But Dick chose to ignore it, his eyes lighting up with the idea.

“Bruce, I can help you,” he insisted enthusiastically. Bruce opened his mouth to protest but Dick didn’t give him the chance. “You saw me earlier,” he continued, “I’m getting better, I can handle it. I can watch your back, Bruce.”

“No.”

“But-“

“No buts,” Bruce said firmly, “You’re not coming with me, Dick. End of discussion.” Dick narrowed his eyes stubbornly, but Bruce turned him around and nudged him towards the elevator. “Go to your room, Dick. I’ll be back soon.”

Dick looked back over his shoulder face painted with worry, “Bruce…”

Bruce just gave him a small smile. “Don’t worry,” he was already climbing into the car, “I never lose a fight, remember?”

. . . . 

Dick sat on his bed, clutching his knees, and rocking back and forth with nervous energy. He couldn’t stand the thought of just sitting there waiting for Bruce to get back. The longer he thought about it, the more convinced he was that something would go wrong; that Bruce would end up getting hurt… or worse.

He hopped off of the bed and began pacing. He’d seen his dad do it a lot when he was stressed, though it had never seemed to help. There wasn’t too much to stress about at the circus; but there had been that one time when Dick fell into a pond near the fairgrounds around Thanksgiving time. Pneumonia was not fun, even if everyone was fussing over him and he got to drink from a twisty straw.

Dick heaved a sigh and looked at the clock on his nightstand, frowning when he saw it had only been three minutes since Bruce had sent him away. The boy’s eyes drifted to the poster hanging on the wall over his bed, once again drawn to the words ‘death-defying’. His heart wrenched. His parents had never fallen before Tony Zucco.

And Bruce had never lost a fight…

Dick narrowed his eyes, mouth thinning with determination. He had to do something; he couldn’t bear to lose another person he cared about.

Glancing at the poster again… Dick had an idea.

. . . . 

It took roughly fifteen minutes to get to the run-down apartment complex listed in the report by car. Unfortunately, eight year old children can’t exactly drive and Dick doubted he could even reach the pedals if he tried; so he was stuck going on foot. Even though he’d found the shortest route on the computer and had been moving as quickly as humanly possible, he still felt like it took him far too long. He’d tried to keep mostly to the shadows on the way there, not wanting to be stopped by any concerned citizens or people of less reputable character. Because even if a kid alone on the streets failed to attract attention, the outfit he had on _definitely_ would have drawn a few curious gazes.

It was the first time since the day he had arrived at Wayne Manor that he had even looked at his old performing uniform; and now here he was, wearing it again.

It was comforting in its familiarity; a bright red top with green leggings, form fitting, with an easy maneuverability to the fabric. Dick had had to make a few small changes, though, for practicality’s sake. The first being a set of sturdy tennis shoes to replace the thin fabric ones used in acrobatics; they would protect his feet better and be more effective for kicking. Then he’d gone through his closet to find a dark jacket, hoping it would help him blend more easily into the darkness, like Batman.

Finally, Dick had realized he’d have to take certain steps to try and conceal his identity; he wasn’t anxious to let Zucco know who he was. So the boy had carefully removed the little golden ‘G’ sewn onto the breast of the costume. That had taken a bit more time than he’d anticipated, but it was too important to be removed lightly. He didn’t have very many personal items left to remember his parents by, and his mother had hand stitched the letter onto all of their outfits the first year he had joined them on the trapeze. Maybe Alfred could help him put it back on later.

The only other thing he could do to prepare was to cover his eyes; but given the urgency of the matter, it would’ve taken too much time to create a mask. So Dick had grabbed a pair of sunglasses that he’d found while exploring the cave a few weeks before. He figured Bruce must have made them for undercover work or something because they were pretty high-tech; they had infra-red, heat sensors, a tiny camera for recording video, and even a night vision setting. All easily controlled by a matching watch… into which Dick may have had to poke another hole in the band so that it wouldn’t fall off of his wrist.

The watch started beeping quietly and Dick’s heart quickened it’s pace in anticipation. That beep signaled that he was near the Batmobile; which also meant that he was near the apartment… and Zucco.

Dick sped up through the dark alleyway he’d been walking down and saw the distinctive car parked further inside. Batman must still be in the apartments, then, either in stealth mode or in trouble.

“I can’t help him from out here,” Dick mumbled under his breath as he studied the buildings. The one on the left was supposedly the one that Zucco was seen entering; now Dick just had to find a way to get in without being seen.

He walked deeper into the alley, past the Batmobile, and found a dead end. There were no doors, no holes in the walls; he looked up and saw that the only windows were on the floor above him. The fire escape attached to them could’ve worked as an access point… if the ladder were about a foot lower.

Dick grunted in frustration, wishing he had one of Batman’s grappling guns; unfortunately, the only things small enough to fit inside of his jacket pockets were a few batarangs. He was too small to move one of the dumpsters and the Batmobile wasn’t close enough for him to stand on top of to reach it, but there had to be another way to get up there. The boy held his chin as he took a closer look at his surroundings, humming quietly to himself. There wasn’t too big of a gap between the ladder and the wall, maybe two feet by his estimation. Dick could work with that.

He backed up until he was standing flush against the car’s bumper and faced the wall. Dick took a deep breath in preparation… and then ran straight ahead, like a shot, at full speed. Just before he would have smacked into the brick face first, he jumped and planted one foot as high up as he could; pushing off, he twisted his body in midair and latched onto the bottom rung of the fire escape. Without even pausing for a breath, he clambered the rest of the way up and dismounted onto the platform with a flip.

Dick allowed himself a small smile as he stepped up to the window; he tried to look inside, but the glass was caked over with so much dust and grime he couldn’t see anything. The boy eased the window open just slightly, not terribly surprised to find that it had been oiled recently; this was probably the way that Batman had made his entrance. Dick pressed his ear against the crack and listened, hearing nothing. Not even a creaking floorboard.

Dick opened the window the rest of the way and took one last look behind him. He had one last chance to reconsider, to just turn around and hide in the Batmobile until Batman completed his mission.

From somewhere in the complex a gunshot rang out, followed by multiple voices raised in fear and anger. Dick slipped through the window without another thought and ran to the door.

He moved quickly and quietly down the hall towards the room where the commotion seemed to be centered in; though he wasn’t certain anyone would have heard him coming either way. He’d be surprised if the people inside could hear their own thoughts, honestly, much less the light tread of a child’s footsteps.

_Craaash!_

Dick flinched as the sound of a window shattering echoed down the hall, followed by a scream. Batman must have thrown someone from the building; from this height, they would definitely be laid up with a few broken bones for the next four or five months.

Dick finally arrived at the door, hanging on its hinges from where it had been busted open, and hesitated for only a moment before glancing around the frame. The first thing he saw was Batman taking a punch to the jaw.

Considering that he was fighting seven guys at the same time, it shouldn’t be that surprising… but Dick could tell that it wasn’t the first hit they’d gotten in. Common thugs never got a hit on the Batman more than twice, tops. That’s what Bruce had told him anyway; which meant that Dick had been right about the lack of sleep affecting his reflexes.

One of the mobsters broke away from the group and grabbed a chair, somehow managing to get behind Batman where he raised it over his head to deliver a punishing blow. Dick’s eyes widened and he started to call out a warning, but quickly slapped a hand over his own mouth.

The only thing that yelling would do, would be to alert them all to his presence. Batman might get distracted in his worry, the guy would knock him out… and then Dick would be facing a crowd of grown men on his own; probably not the best idea. But he still needed a diversion of some kind right this second.

Just as the guy was about to bring the chair down on Batman’s head Dick flicked the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. The boy slipped inside as the men faltered in their brawl; he stayed pressed against the wall as he made his way to the other side, sneaking behind them.

Dick approached the man who had tried to hit the vigilante as Batman resumed pounding on the six thugs in front of him, sweeping his legs quickly out from under him. The man lay there, stunned, as the chair clattered forcefully to the floor; probably wondering what had happened to land him flat on his back. He didn’t have long to ponder it before a broken leg from the chair smacked into the side of his head. Dick imagined he’d have a killer migraine when he woke up.

Stepping over the unconscious guy, Dick ducked behind the couch in the corner to avoid being seen. He tried to peek over the top but jerked back in surprise when Bruce punched another of the men in his direction. The criminal landed heavily on the moldy cushions and groggily shook his head. He seemed about to stand to rejoin the fight, but Dick whacked him over the head with the chair leg before he could finish rising to his feet. There were only five of them left now.

Dick watched as Batman took one out with a savage left hook and readjusted his mental count to four men. Dick smiled in disbelief when he realized he’d helped take two of them down, feeling a little flutter of pride rise within him.

He moved to his hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the couch that was closest to the exit. Yet another man crashed into the wall right beside the door and Dick stood up, ready to make sure he stayed down too; but his wrist brushed against the couch and suddenly the room burst into a kaleidoscope of swirling red and orange blobs, shaped like people. Dick gripped the armrest and closed his eyes in an attempt to steady himself from the unexpected dizziness. He must have activated the heat sensors by accident.

Once he’d caught his balance, Dick slowly blinked at the world around him. The man who had crashed into the wall still hadn’t moved, which left four figures writhing around in a blur of motion.

Dick dropped his makeshift weapon and moved to adjust the watch settings back to the night vision. He couldn’t tell which person was Batman like this and the harsh colors made the room feel like it was spinning.

Dick found the button to turn it off… and paused when he noticed a fifth figure had appeared from seemingly nowhere. It took him a moment to realize that this new man wasn’t in the room with them; his heat signature wasn’t as defined as the others. Dick must have been seeing him through the wall.

The figure was walking at a quick pace; away from the fight and towards the stairs. Dick grimaced and pressed the button, glancing back to see how Batman was doing. He seemed to be getting over his fatigue now that the numbers had been reduced.

Dick moved to the door and slipped outside. Batman didn’t need any more help in there; but this other man needed to be stopped.

If Batman was busy, Dick would just have to do.

. . . . 

As Dick followed silently after the fleeing criminal, he was surprised when the man headed upstairs instead of down. Going out the front door while Batman was distracted seemed like the quickest escape route, surely; but this man just kept going up to the third floor... the forth... the fifth... and then Dick finally caught up with him at the sixth.

Dick couldn’t understand what he was doing; was he attempting to hide? Looking for something maybe? Or could he be trying to throw Batman off by coming up here and then climbing down the fire escape?

Whatever it was, Dick wasn’t going to let him get away. If Bruce could handle four guys by himself… well, five counting the one he’d obviously tossed out of the window; then Dick could handle one on his own.

He wished he’d thought to pick the chair leg back up on his way out of the room; he could have hit the guy from behind and then it would be over. The only choice he had now was to fight hand-to-hand… or more hopefully, foot-to-head. But he was too far away to do anything yet, and if the thing the man needed from the sixth floor was a weapon, then the boy wouldn’t stand a chance. Dick had to keep to him in the stairwell.

The landing was a smaller area, anyway; and Dick, being a smaller person would have the advantage of easier movement out here.

The man reached for the doorknob and Dick’s eyes narrowed.

_Thunk!_

A Batarang thudded into the wall beside the door; quivering slightly at eye level with the criminal. He froze and stared at it, removing his hand carefully from the knob. There was a long moment where he said nothing, and Dick used the hesitation to climb over the banister and maneuver closer without being seen.

The man seemed to be considering something. Then he spoke and Dick almost lost his footing on the narrow ledge, his toes dangerously close to losing traction. He would never forget that voice in a million years…

“Guess the rumors about the Batman are true after all. Eight of my best men in less than ten minutes… a real freak of nature, aren’t you?” Tony Zucco sounded annoyed and impressed all at once. Dick watched, hardly daring to breathe, as his parents’ murderer eyed the shadows around him with suspicion.

Dick felt like his entire body had gone numb at the sight of the man who haunted nearly every nightmare. He didn’t know if he should feel angry, or pained, or frightened. His thoughts were buzzing in his mind like insects, too loud to distinguish one from the other; he vaguely remembered that he was supposed to get the drop on this guy as soon as he was close enough. Now he was three feet away, and Dick couldn’t move.

“Trying to intimidate me, Freak?” Zucco sneered, seemingly growing taller as Dick watched. The boy blinked and frowned, feeling confused, until he looked down at his hands. They’d started to sweat and were steadily slipping down on the metal rails holding the banister in place. Dick tightened his grip with a jerk, feeling the edges bite into his palms, the sting of it bringing him out of his daze.

“The longer you wait, the more convinced I am you’re afraid to take me on,” Zucco continued to taunt, looking appropriately wary.

In a blur of movement, Dick propelled himself back onto the staircase, hitting Zucco squarely in the chest before back flipping away. Zucco yanked the Batarang from the wall as he fell against the door, taking but a second to aim at the boy’s crouched figure and draw his hand back to throw. But he froze as he seemed to register the small stature of his target, and then he scoffed in disbelief.

“A _kid_?” one greasy eyebrow lifted and Dick glared back. His feet were set defensively, ready to dodge the moment Zucco got over his surprise; he would need to react quickly to get out of the knife’s path. 

“I never heard no rumors about the Bat havin’ a brat,” Zucco squinted curiously, looking the boy up and down.

“He doesn’t,” Dick said in a surprisingly strong voice. Talking had not been part of the plan; but he wasn’t about to make a move until Zucco did. As long as the mobster had that knife, he had the upper hand.

“Oh?” Zucco smirked, “Then who are you supposed to be? An obsessed fan? A pet?” Dick just glared harder, even though the smile Zucco gave him now was really creepy. “Is that what he does when crime gets slow in the city? You entertain him?”

Dick tilted his head in confusion, wondering what on earth Zucco meant by that…

The knife flew towards him and Dick realized that the man had been trying to distract him. He jumped to the left, but not fast enough; the batarang left a cut on his right arm as it flew by him and Dick sucked in air through his teeth at the pain. He couldn’t waste time on an injury, though.

Zucco closed the distance between them and raised his arm to strike the boy, but Dick ducked under the blow and kicked the man swiftly behind the knee. He fell and made a grab for Dick’s arm, his hand coming up empty as Dick spun around to deliver a kick to the side of his head. Tennis shoes had definitely been the better choice.

Zucco didn’t go down though; anger was clear on his face despite looking slightly dazed. He swept a leg out, trying to trip the boy; but Dick jumped over it, landed on his hands, and rolled across the floor. He ended up behind Zucco and attempted another kick; Zucco moved in time to avoid the full force but still got clipped on the ear.

Now he looked livid.

He got to his feet and spun around, trying to feign a punch. But Dick had been working with Batman and he noticed the tension in the man’s left leg; executing a back handspring, Dick managed to miss both the kick and the punch.

Zucco growled and came at him again. Only this time when Dick dodged, the man managed to snatch the hood of his jacket.

Before he could register what had happened, Dick was pulled backwards and thrown against the wall. Zucco finally had his opening and he hit Dick in the stomach hard, the boy gasping as the air left his lungs. A second punch followed and he sank to his knees, arms wrapped around his abdomen, as he shut his eyes.

A hand gripped his hair tight, nearly pulling it out at the roots, and forced his head up. Zucco removed the sunglasses and crushed them under his foot, causing Dick to wince; Bruce probably wouldn’t be too happy about that.

Though Dick doubted he’d be alive long enough to find out.

Zucco grabbed his chin when he tried to look away and studied his face. A light of recognition came to his eyes. “You,” he mumbled, “You’re that kid from the circus.”

Dick tried to glare defiantly, but he could feel his lower lip trembling. His eyes were stinging but somehow he found his voice, strained and shaky though it was, “And you’re the man who killed my parents.”

Zucco stared at him for a moment… and then he laughed. Dick wanted to cringe away at the sound; it was worse than in his nightmares. “Well this is certainly an interesting turn of events,” the man said, cruel amusement in his voice, “You come here hoping to ‘avenge’ them?” Dick’s heart was pounding like a drum now, he couldn’t speak anymore. Zucco didn’t seem to care; he just chuckled, shaking his head. “You must miss them,” his eyes widened as though he were sympathetic.

Dick bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, but despite his efforts to hold them back, a few tears spilled over. Zucco tutted, patting the boy’s cheek consolingly. “No need for that, kiddo,” he pulled Dick to his feet, “I have a feeling you’ll be seein’ them soon enough.” He released his grip on Dick’s hair and instead twisted his wrists roughly behind his back.

And then Zucco opened the door and continued his journey up the stairs, dragging Dick along behind him.

Dick could barely breathe through his panic as he remembered his dream. He struggled as hard as he could, trying desperately to break Zucco’s hold. “No! No, let go of me!” he begged, “Please!”

He kicked and fought with every step they took… and then they reached the roof.

“NO!” he screamed even louder, “HELP!”

“You should save your breath kid,” Zucco grunted as one of the boy’s flailing legs hit his shin, “You don’t have all too many to spare.”

They made it to the edge of the building, and just like in his nightmare Zucco sat Dick up on the ledge. “Please…” his voice was a whisper torn away by the wind; one last attempt for mercy that he knew was pointless. Zucco didn’t even respond.

He just smirked one last time… and pushed Dick over the side.

Dick hoped with all of his heart that this was another dream. Even if he woke screaming and terrorized at least he would still wake up; but he knew that this was real. He was about to die just like his parents had... only he was going to die alone.

Dick fell for two seconds that felt like an eternity… and then someone snagged an arm around his waist. His cry turned into a choked gasp, as he felt himself being swung upward, fall halted abruptly.

Once safely on the rooftop, Batman set him down with care; then he anchored a second grappling line to a nearby pipe and turned away towards Zucco. Before the murderer could blink, his arms had been bound to his sides and he was sitting on the ledge from which he had just pushed Dick.

Batman grabbed his collar and pulled the suddenly very pale gangster forward until their noses were practically touching. “Let’s see how you like it,” he growled, low and threatening. Then he pushed Zucco over the edge, the man still screaming after the line stopped his fall.

Dick watched the whole scene but he didn’t really see any of it; he was trembling so badly that he felt like he would collapse at any second, heart still running a race inside of him, and his breath leaving him in wheezing bursts. He was in shock.

Batman knelt in front of him and put a hand on his shoulder, but Dick found he couldn’t see him very well through the tears that were blurring his vision. Somehow he managed a shaky, “Br-Bruce?”

Bruce released a heavy sigh and stood, picking Dick up and wrapping him in his cape. He set a tracker to aid the police in finding Zucco and his men and headed for the fire escape.

“Let’s get you home.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written a few years ago and is posted on fanfiction.net under the same Username and story title. I've decided to clean it up a little and upload it here, because I much prefer AO3's format. If you wish to read it on fanfic you're more than welcome, but I will be making a few changes here and there. Mainly in that since I first wrote it I've learned that Romani as a language is more similar to Sanskrit than Romanian. Italicized quotations will be my indicator for another language being spoken, save for small words and phrases. Hope you enjoy the read!


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